


Children of the land, love is still the answer

by TheHeartOfTheStar



Series: Breathless Nights As This [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Delilah!centric, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Brian, Jim is about to save the day, M/M, Multi, Rog is an angry chihuahua, Soulmarks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, all the cat feels, in a weird way she's the one that bounds them all, is mostly happy fluff, not too much angst tho, scrawls, soulpeople, soulperson, soulscrawls, those aren't even real words, yes this is a soulmate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeartOfTheStar/pseuds/TheHeartOfTheStar
Summary: Soulmarks are supposed to be a blessing, and many people believe they guide your steps to your one. But how could that work when there are just so many of your soulmates out there?Two of them found their soulmate in a dirty alley behind a bar. Two of them found their soulmate in a noisy market in the heart of the city. Two of them found their soulmate in a small student flat. Three of them found their soulmate in a poorly lit auditorium, even if their fourth never realized it.So when they’d gotten a cat, they’d named her Delilah. Because maybe you couldn’t hurry fate, but there was nothing wrong with giving it a bit of a nudge forward.-----A.K.A. John is oblivious, Freddie doesn't believe in coincidences, Roger won't be bound by faith, and Brian is over anxious.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all these months, John had thought the first time Roger punched his face would be because of some a music-related disagreement, not over the name of a cat. But if figures.
> 
> Title taken from Queen's The Prophet's Song.

At the tender age of five, John knew something wasn’t quite right with him. He had _too many_ scrawls. And that realization had followed him wherever he went.

When normal people only had one scrawl on them, John had several. Not two, as he knew a little group of people had. Two would have been fine, he guessed. His neighbors had two each, he had seen those.

He didn’t have three, either. Three would have been out of the ordinary, but still manageable. Nope, he had four different scrawls over his skin. Four very distinct handwritings forming the sentences that would define the first encounter he ever had with his soulmate. Or soulmates, _plural_ , in his case.

But not only had he four different people waiting for him somewhere in the world, but he also had very few chances of actually finding them all on his own. You see, some people had very explicit soulmarks on them. Phrases there was very little chance you’d hear outside of very specific situations.

Some people even were lucky enough to have names on them. That’s how his dad had found his mom. She was a waitress at a café he was taking a date to. His mom had said ‘Hi, my name is Lilian and I’ll be serving you tonight’ and that’d had been it. They had both known they were meant to be together.

Life was sometimes romantic as that, soulmarks guiding your heart to your one true person. But not John’s, oh no. John’s soulmarks were completely useless when it came to identifying people.

_What’s your name, dear?_

_Delilah is a cat_.

 _Come on in_.

 _Can’t believe I called off dinner for this_.

To be fair, at least _Delilah is a cat_ was weird enough for it to be easily recognizable. When the time came, John was pretty sure he would be able to tell on sight who had said it. _Can’t believe I called off dinner for this_ was alright too, he guessed. No matter what inflections John used, that phrase always sounded like whoever the person was they were probably annoyed. But it was alright, a little annoyance wasn’t bad in the face of knowing who had said the words.

His other two scrawls, though. _What’s your name, dear?_ and _Come on in_. What was John even supposed to do with those? How could he ever know who his soulmate was just by hearing those? Those were two of the most commonly uttered phrases in England, for crying out loud.

* * *

It was funny, even if a tad embarrassing to remember, but John recalled vividly the first time he had come home crying after hearing those words.

John had been five at the time, and by then he had been explained what soulmarks were. He understood that the words on your skin matched those your soulmate would say the first time you met. One day, his dad had sent him to return some gardening gloves to the neighbor. He was a big boy, he could be trusted to go on his own and return home safely.

Only the person who opened the door wasn’t Mr. Brown, it was a lady. She was big and had kind eyes, like his grandma’s. She smiled brightly at him and said _What’s your name, dear? Come on in_ and John had burst into tears. He had run home and into his mother’s arms. When he finally calmed down, his mom had asked him what was wrong.

“I met my soulperson” he hiccupped wetly. His mom had acted very collected and calm, wiping his tears. Only many years after that would John understand how badly his mom had been freaking out. It was a bit of a blur after that. They called the neighbor over, and turns the lady was Mr. Brown’s sister. She wasn’t John’s soulmate, she had just said it to be polite.

That night, John’s mom had explained that the words you had on your skin would match your soulmate’s first words, but that your soulmate wasn’t the only person who could say those to you. John was confused, but he understood the gist of it. A single soulmate wouldn’t say two different things the first time they met you, so _What’s your name, dear?_ and _Come on in_ were going to belong to two different people.

So, at the tender age of five, John knew something wasn’t quite right with him. His mother said he shouldn’t be embarrassed by his marks, but John was barely grasping at having _four_ people out in the world just for him.

If you’re a child, and you come from a loving family, of parents who met their soulmate early on and stayed together forever after, it’s easy to fall into the whole romantic idea of soulmates equaling happiness. For a child of a family like John, finding your soulmate would mean _everything_.

When he was little, he would dream of the day he met his soulmates. He would act out some fantasy scenarios with his little sister to their parents, and they would clap and laugh along.

In his teens, he came to a paramount conclusion: his soulmates would probably be old ladies. Only old ladies would ask a fully grown man _What’s your name, dear?_ as the first thing they ever said to him. Plus, old ladies had cats and it would probably explain the Delilah part. Adults were the only ones who ‘cancelled dinners’.

But no matter how badly he tried to plan those first encounters, and memorize answers, and picture the people he was supposed to belong, he knew there was nothing he could do. ‘They come when they come’, his grandma always said. _Or they don’t come at all_ , thought John bitterly.

* * *

Soulmates or not, and despite not doing it to get that result, playing the bass resulted in him getting lots of attention. His band wasn’t half bad and he truly enjoyed playing. They would have gigs in garages and some of their friends even claimed to be their ‘fans’.

It was in one of those gigs he got his first kiss, with a girl named Sarah with curly brown hair and freckles. She had been coming to hear them play at least three times now and said she really liked their covers. She was beautiful, had an easy laugh, and never got mad at John for wanting to stay in to study instead of going out with her.

They dated for three full months, until the day she went to Oxford with her mom and came back with a soulmate. That had been a dark day for John. A reminder, yet again, of his inability to find his soulmates. 

It’s not that John needed them to be happy. He knew he had a good life and was happy with it most of the time. It’s just that- well, wasn’t he supposed to have found at least _one_ of them by now? There were _four_ of them! Most of his schoolmates only had one and they had already found their other halves!

It bothered him to no end having so little control over his own life. He was always waiting for it to happen, he was anxious all the time.

So as years passed by, John met dozens of people who would say those words to him; his generic, overly common words. And slowly, he became desensitized. He wouldn’t even get excited anymore when someone asked him one of those things, because chances were they weren’t his person. Plus, when you live in a little town, there are only so many chances old ladies are going to ask you your name. At some point, everyone has met everyone and their dogs too.

* * *

He moved to London. He thought he was ready for the city, but oh boy was he wrong. He loved it, loved the rush and the people, but there was just so much. Lots of people, lots of cars, lots of cats and dogs, and lots of music.

John was focusing on his degree, because that was what he was here for, after all. But he missed music. He missed playing the bass feeling the beat in his very core. So when he saw a flyer of a band in need of a bassist, he stopped in his tracks. Could he? He had heard them before, Queen. They were good and in dire need of a bassist. The one they had at the moment was holding them down by not listening to what the others were doing.

He knew he was a decent player. Good, even. If he set limits from the start, it wouldn’t interfere too much with his studies. Great stress relief, plus it would actually get his sister off his back with the whole “you need to go out and make friends or you’ll end up old and alone and Delilah will be _your_ cat!”

So he grabbed his bass and hurried up to the old auditorium at the Imperial College where the auditions would be. He scribbled his name at the bottom of the list and sat down. There were a few other guys there, some he had seen around at pubs and concerts.

When one got out, they would beckon the next one in. He dozed off for a while, and was suddenly jolted awake by a loud slam. The guy who had come right before him was strutting away clearly enraged. John only had a moment to try and picture just _what_ could have possibly had pissed him off so bad when the door was opening a lot gentler. A tall man with curly hair who John recognized as the guitarist peeked outside to otherwise empty hall, before beckoning John over.

“Come on in” He said holding the door open for John and his amp. “You’re the last one, I guess” He gave a longing look to the list, as if wishing for more names to suddenly pop up. He sighed and walked towards the three chairs near the front.

John glanced at the other two men sitting there. They had clearly been arguing right before John came in. The black haired one had his arms and legs crossed, and had his lips pursed. The blond one, the drummer, was sprawled in his chair glaring at John.

The bassist swallowed around the lump in his throat. Suddenly, this didn’t look like a great idea after all. His heart was pounding, and he looked nervously at the other three. He pulled out his bass and tweaked his amp, but the silence was stretching on in the most awkward way. The black haired one still was looking at some point to the right, the drummer was glaring at him harder than anyone had ever done since he asked for more homework in 4th grade, and the curly one was clearly waiting for him to do something. Should he start playing just like that?

But John was frozen in awkward silence. They had been quarreling, and bands were complicated. Maybe they wanted to finish their clearly unfinished argument? He was about to suggest that when the blond one snorted.

“Can’t believe I called off dinner for this” he said putting out a cigarette. At that, the black-haired reacted. Snorting, he rolled his eyes. He looking like he wanted to say more on the subject, but curly cut him off.

“Freddie.” Was the only thing he said before snatching the cigarette out of the blond’s fingers and putting it out on the floor. “No smoking in the auditorium if you want to ever being allowed back” Both singer and drummer glared at curly before turning to John.

“What’s your name, dear?” he asked doing a takeover and pursing his lips again. John was beginning to feel very self-conscious here. His heart was still pounding in his chest. He cleared his throat.

“I’m John Richard Deacon, and I was born on August the 19th, 1951” he said, mouth on autopilot, reciting the response he had memorized when he was a child ‘to be ready’ for his soulmate’s question. He winced and the lameness and un-rock n’ roll vibe of his response, looking at some point above the heads of the other three when he felt his cheeks flame up in embarrassment at the choked sounds. Probably laughs. He couldn’t check or he’d probably die in mortification, so he stammered on “Should I just play or…”

“Yes!” came the too high response from the singer. “yes, play some for us. Start with some covers, and then original work, if you’d like”

So John played, and as he did, he could feel himself relax in the control he had. He loved it, the sound of the bass, the steadiness it provided. His heart was still hammering, but he knew he was good. When he played, he flew.

He transitioned effortlessly from one piece to another, and then from cover to some pieces he had composed long ago. They were flashy, and a part of him thought maybe those were too much. Bands wanted bassists to blend in, not the other way around. Still, when the sound died, he heard clapping.

The singer had got to his feet and was clapping excitedly, eyes shining. John dared to let out a small huff of laughter before looking at the other two. The drummer was hunched forward in his seat, grinning from ear to ear, predatory. The guitarist had his hands crossed over his stomach but was smirking like the cat who ate the canary.

“Can you give us a moment to talk this over, John?” asked the guitarist politely. John nodded and set down his bass. He hadn’t really left the room when he heard excited whispering. John smiled and closed the door behind him. He pulled out a cigarette and lighted it, feeling the bone deep satisfaction of a gig well played.

Looking back, John would always blame adrenaline for him having missed three of his four soulmarks, uttered in less than 5 minutes from one another.

* * *

John didn’t remember much of the first time he met the other three. One moment he hadn’t met them, the next it was like they’d been around each other forever. He didn’t get it, but he wasn’t complaining. They were all amazing musicians, and crazily smart people.

Out of them all, Freddie was the most extravagant. He liked fashion and colors and cats and had decided to start cultivating species in John’s windowsill even when he knew John didn’t know how to use those and Freddie himself couldn’t cook to save his life. He liked to sing to the stars, pet stray animals, and cry watching soap operas.

Roger was definitely loudest. He had a loud laugh he used constantly, like the world at large was a great place to be alive. He had long bleached hair that somehow seemed soft even when he knew for a fact from the time his sister had done it that bleached dried your hair like the Sahara. He liked patterned clothing and winking at strangers, and flirting with random people at bars. To John’s surprise, Roger loved middle-aged women TV shows almost as much as he loved races. He was blind as a bat but loved Agatha Christie’s mysteries and could rant for hours on end about engines.

Brian was quieter than the other two, but no less chaotic. He had a wicked sense of humor and enjoyed pranks more than any of them. He was studying for astrophysics and knew a lot of hard facts about things in general. He often used his know-it-all voice to win arguments in bars, and could handle his booze better than the self-proclaimed King of Booze Roger, and John was low-key convinced Brian’s dirty talk would probably be shameless. Not that he was imagining it. Not too much, at least.

Some months had passed, and they had started doing great in the local pubs, and they had gathered a small but respectable amount of followers, and John was happier than he had been in years. Things were going amazing.

And it wasn’t even weird to know the other three were in a relationship together. All three of them. John had been secretly over the moon, because it meant they wouldn’t freak out too bad if he ever came out to them and told them he had four soulmates he was never gonna meet because his soulmarks simply were too common.

John thought it was great that they were in a relationship, fully committed and completely besotted with each other. Still, there were days John couldn’t help but wonder just what did he think he was doing accepting all the outings and group activities they did together. Because he wanted to excuse those as band bonding time, as Freddie called them, but deep down he knew if he were doing it with anyone else he’d call them dates.

So when Freddie invited him over to his and Roger’s flat for a ‘band meeting’, John knew that was a lame excuse for getting shitfaced in private. And he accepted eagerly. Freddie had been parroting about the stray cat he and Rog had adopted some days ago. It was unusual, because they usually hanged out at John’s, but hey, he wasn’t complaining. If sometimes John wondered where exactly they hanged out _before_ meeting him, well, no one could blame him.

When he got there, he wasn’t surprised to find Brian already there, wrestling Roger in the couch. And wasn’t _that_ a nice image. 

“Dearest!” shrieked Freddie from the kitchen, coming out with a cat in his arms. And it was the ugliest cat John had ever seen in his life. He loved it. “Finally you’re here! We can start the meeting!” Fred singed shoving the cat in John’s arms and taking the bottle of vodka from him. 

This had to be the weirdest cat in town, because he remained completely relaxed and happy in John’s awkward embrace. Roger snorted looking at him from the couch and John gave him a half smile. “You look ridiculous,” he said lighting a cigarette. Brian groaned under him at the smoke, but didn’t say anything, which inexplicably made John smile wider.

“Does it have a name yet?” asked John trying to keep the cat from melting from his arms into the floor, as it had decided to become a puddle and not hold its own shape anymore.

“The name’s Delilah!” shouted Freddie from the kitchen, and John froze in his tracks. Could it be like this? Was this the fated cat he’d been dreaming of? He laughed and shook his head. He was being silly, there were tons of cats named Delilah. Still, _coincidences_. “Delilah is a cat” whispered John, touching the kitten softly under her chin.

“What was that?” And that was said with such an unusual tone of voice that John immediately looked up, only to find the other three looking at him. John felt himself blush bright red, as if the other could see straight through him. As if they could somehow know he was talking about the scrawl he had in the left hip from the day he was born. “Uhm, nothing, it’s just-”

“You said something just now, what was it?” Roger’s expression was thunderous, and John was at a loss, spluttering. _What?_

“Rog, it was nothing-“ started Brian, but Roger disentangled himself from the couch and stood there in the middle of the living room.

“I said Delilah is a cat” John had found his voice, shaky and all, but it was there. After his first shock at being introduced to Delilah The Cat, John felt annoyed at Roger’s sudden anger. If he had learned anything in these months, it was to stand his ground in front of the others. “What about it?”

“Why would you say such a thing?” the blond shot back. He had crossed his arms and was glaring at John from across the living room. Brian shot a nervous look at Freddie, who was still standing in the kitchen door with his mouth hanging open.

“Rog, calm down” Brian tried to get his boyfriend back in his lap, but the drummer was having none of it.

The blond had finally escaped Brian’s grip and had crossed the room in two long strides, now inches away from John’s face, who instinctively tried to step back, only to be pulled closer by two fists in his shirt. He faintly heard both Freddie’s and Brian’s warning calls, but all he could focus on was Roger’s angry flushed face and his too bright eyes.

And all these months, John had thought the first time Roger punched his face would be because of some a music-related disagreement, not over the name of a cat. And when he felt the arms pinning him tensing, he closed his eyes and got ready for the pain. Only it never came. Instead, he was pushed back with more force than necessary and less force than expected.

“What is it to me, huh? What is it to me, I’ll fucking show you what it is-“ Roger muttered angrily as he took his pants off. And then Brian reacted, he was out of the sofa in no time and tried to grab Roger by the arms.

“Don’t do it! We said we’d wait for him to be sure!” said Brian, struggling to get the drummer under control. But Roger was stronger than any of them, they all knew that, so he easily pushed Brian away. “Rog, think about it, all our efforts, we’ve waited for a reason-“

“No! Enough is enough! I waited and played along when I thought it was only us, but now he knows the name of the stupid cat?! What else could we possibly wait for?!” And if John wasn’t confused before, he definitely was now. What the hell had happened to the easygoing vibe from just 5 minutes ago? Waited for what? “Look!” shrieked the blond pointing at his inner thigh, when he noticed the bassist looking anywhere but his bare legs.

“Roger, dear, there’s no need to get so worked up over nothing, we all know you’re handsome, you don’t have to strip yourself for us” Fried tried to laugh awkwardly, finally getting out of his stupor. But the singer’s joke fell flat in the middle of all the tension. The blond was almost shaking out of his skin.

The bassist blushed, he couldn’t help it. Still, he complied with the drummer’s orders. John’s gaze zeroed on the pale skin there, where a messy scrawl could be made out. And when he got closer, he nearly had a heart attack. There, black ink against cream skin, were the exact same words in the exact same messy scrawl that marked his own hip. _Delilah is a cat_.

His mind was blank, his ears were buzzing. He could hear Roger asking him something, and then probably Brian talking. But John couldn’t react, couldn’t do anything but stare at the words. He felt hands pushing him by the shoulders again, and looked up to Roger’s face. He wasn’t so sure now that the intense frown Roger was wearing was anger, but he couldn’t really figure out what else was going on. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_.

The next thing he knew, he was gone. Flying down the stairs, out in the open. He had left his coat behind but he didn’t care, he needed air. He couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I posted it. It was supposed to be a very short soulmate drabble and here I am, 8 hours later. AND I REGRET NOTHING. 
> 
> I wanna give a quick shoutout to the amazing Annieapple24 for betaing this is in a super short notice <3 Still, English is not my first language, so if you see any typos, pls let me know :)
> 
> So this will be a series. Maybe. Probably. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger had never had a lot of faith in the whole soulmate business. You waited your whole life to find the owner of the words, then you married off, got a house, a dog, children, then you died. End of story. Not much excitement to it at all. Very much not the life he wanted to live, anyway.

_My name is John Richard Deacon, and I was born August 19 th, 1951_

Roger had never had a lot of faith in the whole soulmate business. Sure, you were born with random scribbles in your body, people got excited, you waited your whole life to find the owner of the words, then you married off, got a house, a dog, children, then you died. End of story. Not much excitement to it at all.

So no, Roger had never been one for dreaming of meeting the people who’d say those words to him. It’s not that he didn’t want to meet them at all. It’s just that he wasn’t anxiously looking for them every time he met someone new.

His family never talked about it much. He knew his mom and dad weren’t soulmates. When he was a kid, he thought maybe that was the reason behind all the fighting in the Taylor household. After some years, he learned people are just full of bullshit, and having someone’s words scrawled on your skin ain’t gonna change that. Besides, what’s to say just because nature matched two people together it will magically work out? Their next door neighbors were matched, and Roger could still hear the shouting and the china breaking at least once a week.

In all truth, Roger had always been a bit afraid of finding his soulmates. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew himself enough to know he got tired of people. Easily, in fact. He met wonderful people, both girls and boys, would date them for a while. Then, one day, the excitement wore off, he got bored and it was over.

That’s why Roger looked at his four scribbles and dreaded wondering just why he had so many. Everyone said you were supposed to stay with your one happily ever after. But if he had four, didn’t that mean he met his ones and then got bored of them so he moved on to the next one? How else could he be with all four of them?

Worse still, what would happen if they got bored of _him_? Roger knew he was difficult to live with. He couldn’t cook to save his life. He forgot important dates, like birthdays, all the time. He guessed maybe once he’d met his soulmate he’d break the habit of using up all the hot water out of the love of his heart, but somehow he thought that was unlikely at best. 

He tried not to think about his soulmarks as spares, but looking at his scrawls he found it hard to shake the feeling that life was telling him something like “you screwed up, and you’ll do it again, but at least you get another chance, cheers!”. Roger knew people thought he was a jerk, but even he had to admit having spare soulmates was shitty no matter how you looked at it.

Besides, it was a bit fucked up, when you thought about it. Because many people just wanted to find their one, and once they did they stayed with that person forever without ever stopping to wonder whether or not they were good for each other. He had met a girl whose soulmate hit her, and she still stuck around because he loved her. _Bullshit_ , alright. What kind of relationship was that?

And it was different for people with random quotes on their skin. Roger had seen poetry in some of his classmates, song verses, remarks on the weather, things like that. And he thought that was better than the alternative, because Roger had a full name and date of birth around his ankle, and wasn’t _that_ super creepy. Somewhere out there was John Deacon, born August 19th, 1951, with no idea Roger was going to get bored of him within months –if not weeks-, and break his heart.

So Roger wasn’t overly concerned with going out there and finding his people. If the time came, he’d figure out how to handle them. In the meantime, he was more than happy to fool around with anyone he wanted.

* * *

_You’re the drummer from before, aren’t you?_

Roger loved drumming. He loved the beat and the steadiness, the way drums controlled the core of the song. He loved hard and fast rhythms, but was always happy to do slow steady ones just to _prove_ that he could maintain a beat for hours. Who he was proving anything to was a mystery. The world at large, he guessed.

But Roger also felt highly annoyed he loved drumming so much. Because he had always loved music and had picked up guitar very early on, and when his parents had bought him a drum set he was over the moon. He was 11 and vibrating out his skin with excitement. His own drum set!

It had been expensive, more than what his family could comfortably afford, but he was a child. He knew nothing about money.

When years later he found out his parents were still paying for that first drum set he had been furious. He confronted his mom about it, and she just answered it was what he needed. Besides, he loved playing, didn’t he? At that, he had been even angrier. He went to his room and slammed the door, and spent the next three days fuming.

He didn’t even know why he was so angry. His parents weren’t complaining, they had bought the set and gifted it to him as a loving gesture. And he did love playing. Everyone wins. What was the problem then?

After many hours staring angrily at his drum set, Roger had a revelation. The problem was he loved playing. No, the real problem was _why_ he loved playing. Because thinking about it, he wasn’t sure if he loved drumming because he loved drumming or if he loved drumming because he was _meant to_ love drumming.

When he woke Clare up in the middle of the night to whisper that awful conclusion to her, she had promised the next time he woke her like that and no one was dying, she’d make sure Roger suffered a painful and mysterious accident. He was annoyed at her response but also very proud. So much anger in such a little body, Clare was a girl who’d take no bullshit.

Still, the morning after, upon finding him still glaring at the drum set, his sister had offered her advice. If it bothered him so much, he could just stop drumming altogether. _Fight fate or whatever_ , she’d said. And Roger had tried. For a full week, he didn’t even touch his drumsticks.

And then, staring angrily at the words in his calf, he decided it didn’t matter what nature thought. If there was something he could do for hours on end without ever tiring out, it was drumming. And he wasn’t going to give that up for something as stupid as a soulmark.

So he didn’t.

* * *

_And with those shoes_

London was a dream. It was so big, there were people everywhere and amazing pubs in every single corner. He was letting his hair grow long, which his mom had always disapproved of. The markets were incredible, and you could find the most amazing clothing if you knew where to look. As expected, Roger couldn’t help but stare at people’s shoes when he met them. It was a habit he had developed as a child with a shoe-related scribble, and he couldn’t be bothered to break it now.

But fashion and pubs and markets weren’t what Roger liked most. Above all, the music scene was fantastic, and he spent three nights out of five listening to local bands.

He was living at his college’s dorms, which was a bit awful, and he hated dentistry with all his might. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think he didn’t need college in order to get a half decent job to stay in London forever.

As soon as he was able, Roger found some people to jam with. Nothing serious, nothing big or fancy. The others weren’t half bad, but he wanted to murder the bassist. So he moved on and played with other people.

Clare had once said he was a drum whore and would play with whoever crossed his path. He had laughed because it was true. He loved drumming, and even coming from Truro, he knew he was better than the vast majority of the children with drumsticks here.

All in all, he was having a great time. Weeks blurred into months, and soon he knew the ins and outs of partying in the city. He winked at pretty people, and ugly people too. He flirted and slept around to his heart’s content. He learned how to quirk his mouth in a filthy smile that could get him free drinks at the bar and consent to get into pretty much any pants he wanted.

Many would leer and some were jealous. He just laughed, because people would fall for anyone who batted eyelashes at them.

Sometimes, jerks with too many drinks on would try to grab his butt or touch his face. Most backed off when he turned around and glared at them, pointing at his dick. Some he had to remove by force. And those times, he was glad his father had insisted with whole macho crap and taught him how to fight.

Roger was strong, but he was also light and not that tall. So he fought dirty. He kicked shins and bit and spit into his opponent’s eyes when necessary, and he wasn’t ashamed of that. A win is a win is a win. If he had to stab people with his drumsticks in the process, fine by him. 

That’s how one night after an impromptu gig at a pub near the Imperial College, Roger found himself half-drunk facing three half-drunk angry men. He didn’t really recall how he’d gotten out here in the first place, but he wasn’t backing down.

It wasn’t so much a fight but a scuffle. He punched some faces and kicked some people, and elbowed some too. He got some blows back, but overall came out unscratched. It was over before it even got any good, the other three scurrying away. Roger groaned. _God_ , he needed a cigarette.

“You’re that drummer from before, aren’t you?” said a voice to his right and Roger almost jumped out of his skin. There he was, a lanky man with long curly hair and legs that went for miles. He didn’t have his glasses, and it was pretty dark, so he couldn’t really make out any other details. Besides, his heart had started picking up again.

If this had been any other day, Roger probably would have treated his soulmate with more finesse, but he was still going on adrenaline, so all that came out was “Fucking fight me, punk” and then, always a proper gentleman, he spit some blood on the sidewalk. He had bitten his cheek during the fight and now it was throbbing painfully and bleeding a lot more than necessary, thank you very much.

He sighed and looked up to the lanky man. Yeah, he was still there. Frozen in place and looking at him with big brown eyes framed by all that curly hair. Idly, Roger wondered if the man wasn’t very hot all the time under those curls. It was just _so much_.

Silence stretched on and Roger started to get uncomfortable. He flexed his hands. His left wrist was sore and his right knuckles had bloodied and scraped. Was this how it happened all the time, the soulmate thing? God he needed a drink. He opened his mouth to say he was going back in when the other one spoke.

“I’m Brian, Brian May” said Brian holding out a hand. Roger almost groaned, he had such a nice voice, all low and soft. And inexplicably that annoyed him to no end. He frowned at the hand Brian was offering, but the other didn’t back down. When he looked up at his face, Roger was surprised to find the deer-in-the-headlights look gone, replaced by fierce determination. This was a man who would stand there with his hand offered for hours, until Roger yielded. _Fucking hell_.

He huffed and rolled his eyes, glaring as he shook the hand. “Roger Taylor”

“Roger” repeated Brian with a smile. He gave Roger the once-over. “I should say congratulations on your fight?” Roger huffed and shook his head. He wanted to scream.

“It wasn’t a great fight”

Still, Roger found himself smiling. And oddly enough, he didn’t mind holding the handshake with this near stranger. Brian hummed and asked “So no celebratory drinks, then?”

With a lopsided grin, he leaned into Brian’s personal space. “Imma drink you under the table” and then he let go of Brian’s hand. As he stepped inside again, he heard Brian laugh right behind him.

* * *

_Delilah is a cat_

Turned out Brian was hilarious on top of handsome. He was also insultingly smart. And to make things even better, he played the guitar. Sure, he hadn’t played for Roger yet, but he had a feeling he was going to be insanely talented. Roger had such a great time with him, he was baffled when out of the blue Brian said they needed to talk.

“Roger?” came the tentative question. Brian was looking worried, but Roger’s mind had come to a halt. He couldn’t think properly, it was all white noise. His mind was reliving every single second of their four dates to try and figure out when exactly things had gone so wrong for Brian to be breaking up with him. It fucking figures this would happen, after all these years worrying it was gonna be _him_ breaking his poor soulmate’s heart. “Roger, you still with me?”

“Yeah” and he was pathetic. Roger tried to clear his throat and tried again “yeah, I’m here” but then, he couldn’t say anything else. His soulmate was breaking up with him after only a week. That had to be a record, or something. Brian was looking like he had just been sentenced to death.

They had just gotten to Brian’s flat, Roger hanging his coat while Brian disappeared to his bedroom. Now Roger was sitting in Brian’s ratty couch, and Brian was standing there looking anywhere but at Roger. And to think the drummer had been over the moon at Brian having invited him over. He had thought it was a good sign, he had even hoped the other would play some for him. The silence stretched on. Roger blinked at Brian and raised an eyebrow. Somehow, Brian’s silence and sick look made Roger incredibly mad.

“Listen-“

“I have to-“

They both started at the same time and shut up. Brian looked mortified, but at least he was looking at Roger now. The drummer made a hand gesture to tell Brian he could go first. The guitarist took a deep breath and then said the last thing Roger had expected to hear that day.

“I have three other soulmates”

Roger just stared at the guitarist. Had he heard that right? Or had he fainted and was having a feverish dream? A bit hysterical, he chuckled. No, he couldn’t have been dreaming, because there was no way his mind could conjure up the face Brian had on his face right now.

He chuckled again. Brian was now looking at him like he’d grown two heads, but the drummer couldn’t stop. He laughed and laughed and he knew he was panicking a bit but he was so relieved.

“I’m serious!” shrieked Brian, and only then the drummer looked at him properly while he got his laugh under control. Brian was shaking, and although he had taken off his coat, he still had his gloves on. Now that he thought of it, Brian hadn’t taken off his gloves all week. Sure, it had been cold, but _that_ cold?

Finally, Roger managed to settle down. Brian was glaring at him, but the drummer was so relieved he wasn’t being cut off he couldn’t help but find that frown adorable. “I’m sorry” he said to the angry guitarist.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Brian voice was high pitched. 

“Yes, you have three other soulmarks” said Roger smiling. If this meant what he thought this meant, his life had just turned around in the most unexpected of ways.

“And doesn’t that bother you?” all but screeched Brian. Now, his angry-puppy look had morphed into a confused-puppy look. Roger shook his head. He couldn’t answer, because if he did, he was sure he’d start laughing again. Brian wasn’t letting him much of a choice, though “Why not?!”

“Because-“ _Now, control yourself. Breathe_. “Because _I_ have other three soulmarks too” and only then did he let a snicker escape. He bit his lip. _Breathe, Roger_. He looked up at Brian and was faced with the most heartfelt glare the other one could muster.

“That’s not funny, Roger” he gritted out. And now Roger was confused.

“What?” because seriously, where was this conversation even _going_. They both had three other soulmarks, and that meant they probably belonged to the same people. And all his life Roger had thought he would only have one at a time and how had it never occurred to him that he could have it all _at the same time_. Brian just frowned and pursed his lips. Clearly he wasn’t getting it yet, but Roger couldn’t help but chuckle again. This was _perfect_. “Ah, I see. You don’t believe me.”

Roger stood and sashayed his way to Brian. Then, he started undoing his belt. “I’ll show you something that’ll convince you” and he almost laughed at the sudden angry blush on Brian’s previously paled face. Sometimes it was a blessing and a curse to have his marks on his legs.

“What, are your marks on your dick?” and Roger laughed out loud at that, because it was the perfect comeback and it was so much _Brian_.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” purred Roger. And Brian pushed him back but still huffed out a laugh, taking off his gloves. Roger didn’t even have time to fulfill his side of the bargain when Brian was holding up his left hand.

There, in each of his fingers, was a different scrawl. And Roger just stood there with his mouth hanging open and his pants mid-thigh. He could see the _Fucking fight me, punk_ in his own horrible handwriting, but that wasn’t what shocked him the most.

There, a perfect match for his own, was John Deacon’s introduction. And Roger had guessed his soulmates would match Brian’s, but it was a completely different thing to have some kind of _proof_. He looked up at the guitarist in awe, and saw Brian’s eyes latched on right leg. There, up his thigh and partially hidden by his trousers, _Delilah_ could be seen.

“Delilah.” Said Brian softly. He looked up “Is that the name of one of…?” He trailed off looking at his own fingers.

Roger shook his head and laughed. “Delilah is a cat”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I had never posted before, I had no idea what getting comments would be like. And now I understand what other authors have said thousands of times before: your comments are the most amazing thing ever, I love every single one of them and I am so excited to get them you have no idea <3
> 
> So yeah, this is chapter two!! Written tons faster than I actually expected. Like, I’m impressed. I really should be writing some essays on the representation of POC in nineteenth-century painting (spoiler alert: racism) but here I am. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! <3
> 
> EDIT: Thanks to those who pointed out I had Deaks born 20 years after his real birthday. Not I nor my beta noticed it :O I've also changed the place where Brian's words are on Roger's body: not his thigh, but his calf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People say you shouldn’t try to bend nature’s will, and all things that were going to happen to you would happen no matter what you did to change that. But Freddie didn’t believe in coincidences, nature was seldom so lazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said there was not going to be an update in a while because I needed to get some work done? HAHAHAHA. My hand slipped.
> 
> A thousand thanks to Annieapple24 because she's awesome and she's betaing this out of the love of her heart. 
> 
> Now, to battle!

In India, soulmarks were sacred. A soulmark was gift from nature, to which we all belonged to. Having a soulmark meant you had been kissed by Radharani, you were a drop in the endless river of life. It meant you had a purpose in this world; you hadn’t been born by chance.

So when Freddie was born with four soulmarks upon him, it had been a happy day for the Bulsara family. A blessed soul, meant for greatness. So they had given him the Persian name Farrokh, the one destined to be fortunate and happy.

Freddie liked his scrawls. He liked their symmetry over his body. Two of his soulmarks were on his arms: one each arm, right in the inside of his elbows. His right arm had a very carefully written _So you two met at the market_ , his left arm had a barely readable _That shirt is a crime._ His other two soulmarks were in the soles of his feet, hiding two names.

It was nice having his scrawls where he had them. He liked to think nature had balanced out his body. 

When they moved to London, part of him was relieved. All his scrawls were written in English, and although it wasn’t impossible, it was highly unlikely he’d find all four of his soulmates in a country where most people spoke Arabic.

At the same time, and shameful as it was to admit it –considering the scribbles were a blessing-, he liked that not all of them were on display. People in England were nasty enough knowing he had _two_ soulmarks and was a _foreigner_ , he didn’t need their awful comments if they ever found out Freddie actually had four. It’s not that Freddie wanted to keep them a secret, but he didn’t want to advertise his personal life either.

English people were strange, over all. Not all of them did, but many of them hid their marks to the world. They were ashamed when they had more than one, like somehow it made them less. At the same time, they were very much desperate to meet their soulmates.

They had bars were people would say one thing to you and then move on, and you were supposed to find your soulmate there. The amount of blind dates they went on was unnerving for Freddie. They held rallies for unmatched people, in the hopes of finally finding their other half. They had TV shows dedicated to finding your one, and TV shows for middle-aged people who _hadn’t_ met their ones.

His parents disapproved of all this, and forbid Kash and him from ever going to any of these bars or events. Fred’s parents believed nature had given you the mark for a reason, so nature itself would guide your steps to your one.

Freddie too thought soulmarks showed you the path to people who would make your spirit grow, but he also thought there was nothing wrong with helping nature along.

* * *

Markets had always drawn Freddie like a moth to a flame. He loved the frantic energy all markets had, the shouts and loud bargaining. He loved the little trinkets and strong smells coming from everywhere. You could always find people laughing at markets, and more often than not, also people singing or playing.

So all his life, he’d loved going to different markets with his parents, and, when he was old enough, by himself. _So you two met at the market._ It was a great relief he enjoyed them so much, because apparently he was bound to meet the person that would lead him to one of his soulmates.

Out of all his scrawls, he liked that handwriting the most. He liked the way the ‘t’s were crossed and the steady rhythm it had. This was a person who wrote constantly -maybe the owner of those words was a writer, a _poet_ -. He wished they would have good fashion sense, too, once Freddie met them.

Back in Zanzibar, he loved watching old ladies in their brightly colored shawls and tunics. Not that he could explore that much at the boarding school his father had insisted he attended in India. The education was good, and he couldn’t complain much, but if one thing was certain is that adults at the boarding school hadn’t particularly cared for eccentricity.

After he’d moved to London, considerably colder than Zanzibar or India had ever been, Freddie discovered the beauty of fur and jackets. Cold weather was great for outfits, because you could layer your clothing without fearing you’d have a heat stroke at any moment.

And London was full of hidden treasures when it came to fashion. If you knew where to look, you could find incredibly cheap clothing that would change your wardrobe forever.

So Freddie often hunted markets looking for fashion items. He had a few favorite stalls near Kensington, but he was always willing to hunt around. 

So today it was Wednesday morning, the first one of the month, and that meant antiques market day near the Candem Passage. He was trying to find something for Kash’s birthday next month. Something nice, something she’d actually wear but better than those awful things she called clothing.

Sometimes Freddie wished his fashion sense would rub off on her. His little sister desperately needed something other than jean jackets, no matter how ‘in’ people claimed those were. Denim was denim, there was only so much you could do if every single one of your friends wore it.

Freddie was going through a huge pile of clothing when a person started doing the same right by his side. He glanced at the person, offering a smile. He was met by long hair, bright blue eyes, a lopsided grin, and a quick wink. Freddie laughed at that and turned back to the pile. The stranger laughed too and did the same.

He knew that man from somewhere. _Where_? Freddie tried to recall where he had seen this man before. Unfortunately, the singer had always been bad with faces, so this was probably an enigma that would haunt him for days –his brain got obsessed- but that he wouldn’t be able to solve –his brain was shit at remembering things-.

The pile seemed to be endless, and he was nowhere near finding the right gift for Kash. He regretted wearing a long sleeved shirt, because even when it was a bit cold, the sleeves kept getting in his way. With a huff, he pulled up his sleeves over his elbows and tied a little knot. There, that should do it.

“Darling!” came a cry from behind him, and he watched as a middle aged man with the worst shirt he had ever laid eyes upon hugged the woman who owned the stall he was currently at. The man by his side leaned in and now Freddie could see the grimace on his face.

“That shirt is a crime!” he whispered in mock horror, turning around again to look at the man in question. Freddie wholeheartedly agreed.

“And with those shoes!” he whispered back, chuckling. He saw the back of the other man tense at this and heard a faint gasp. He turned around so fast Freddie was sure he’d given himself whiplash.

Only then did Freddie register what had just happened. He let out his own gasp. He was sure his mouth was hanging open comically.

He’d spent so long imagining one day he’d met someone at the market that would introduce him to one of his soulmates, that Freddie had honestly never expected to meet any of his soulmates _here_. His right hand went to his left inner elbow, where his words were etched, but the motion was aborted midway.

Still, that movement was enough to draw the other man’s eyes down. When they zeroed on Fred’s skin, his eyes bulged comically. Freddie looked down too, as if he needed any other confirmation. There, as they had always been, were the words _That shirt is a crime_.

“Well, that was unexpected” said Freddie looking back up. The other man grinned and pulled him in by the neck of his shirt. Their lips touched with more force than finesse, and it was awkward because they were both smiling too much.

“I’m Roger” said the man when he pulled back, and his grin was so bright it warmed Freddie’s heart. “And I wanna take you out for lunch”

Freddie laughed.

* * *

Roger was everything he could have hope for, really. He was loud and had too much energy wanting an out, ready to explode.

Freddie wasn’t surprised in the least when he learned Roger was a drummer. It clicked, of course. He’d caught sight of him and his other two bandmates the other day at a pub, and a friend had said they weren’t half bad. In fact, Freddie was supposed to go hear them play next weekend.

When he’d told Roger this, the other one had looked like an overly pleased kitten. “We are getting closer to fame” he’d said lifting his glass to toast the world.

Lunch had turned into afternoon tea –that they’d replaced for afternoon beers- and then into dinner. They had planned a date this Saturday morning to another market in the outskirts of London. Freddie didn’t drive, but Roger did, so that was one less thing to worry about. 

When they were saying their goodbyes for the day, Roger caught his hand. Freddie was a bit confused by the drummer’s intense gaze, but maybe it was just Roger trying to focus his face in the low light. Roger tried to act it out, but Freddie had been around Kash his entire life, he knew a blind person when he met one.

“Fred, I haven’t been completely honest with you” said Roger biting his lower lip. The singer cocked his head slightly. “You aren’t my first”

At that, Freddie laughed out loud. “Honey, I would’ve been worried if you weren’t going around” he dragged Roger in for a quick kiss “Don’t get your panties into a knot, you don’t have to worry about my virginal innocence”

“What- It’s not that!” Roger choked; he looked like he wanted to be offended but couldn’t help laughing too. “I mean my first soulmate”

At that, Freddie stopped in his tracks. Roger was smiling, but he was also looking quite serious. And they had talked about this, earlier this afternoon. Freddie knew both of them had four scrawls. Why hadn’t Roger mentioned it before?

Roger winced. Freddie cursed. Apparently he had said that out loud. “I don’t want to sound accusatory or anything”

“No, I know. It’s just- I don’t know“ the drummer let out a little mortified sigh “I guess because I wanted to have you for myself for a while”

“Alright” Freddie found himself nodding. That made sense. He didn’t have others; he couldn’t know he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing. “So who is he?”

“Uhm- It’s Brian.”

“Brian as in Brian your bandmate?” his eyebrows were going to touch is hair at this rate. And how could he not have seen that, with the way Roger talked about him?

“He’s fantastic, you’ll see. I mean, he’s a vegetarian, but I still manage to love him” said Roger with a smile. And Freddie couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Don’t worry, Rog. I can take you to the burgers behind his back and he’ll be none the wiser” he chuckled.

“Oh, my hero!” laughed Roger with a high pitched voice. They walked in silence for a while after that, holding hands. “You’ll probably meet him on Saturday, we can stop by his place when we get back”

So Freddie had agreed and they had finally parted ways.

* * *

Of all the times he’d imagine the person he’d meet in the fated market that would lead him to his soulmate, Freddie had never expected them to be _another_ of his soulmates. Now he had Roger, and he was positively giddy.

That meant the scribble in the poet’s handwriting belonged to no other than Brian, and Freddie couldn’t wait. He was almost vibrating out his seat with excitement. It had been a piece of cake to do the math. Clearly, Brian wasn’t John Deacon, and although he _could_ be the one stating Delilah’s catness, Fred doubted it. Roger and him had met at the market, now they were on their way to meet Brian. Brian was already Roger’s soulmate, so if he jumped to the only logical conclusion, then Freddie would have been right in guessing which scribble belonged to him.

They got to Brian’s place, and Roger led him up the stairs like he owned the place. Of course, the singer had already noticed the other man usually walked and talked like he owned places, so that wasn’t unusual.

Roger had his own key, and opened the door shouting a “we’re home!” before leading Freddie into the living room. And there he was, too tall, curly-haired Brian, wearing a sweater that was too short for him in the wrists. It would have been funny, only Freddie thought he looked so cute he might die right there. And all that _hair_.

Brian was anxiously looking at him, and Freddie was waiting. If he was right, then _Brian_ was supposed to talk first. Only he didn’t seem like he was going to say anything, he was just standing there, rubbing his hands together like some kind of movie villain. But the whole villain vibe was ruined by the panic in his eyes. Still, Freddie waited.

And waited.

Roger was starting to get nervous too, Freddie could see him looking at them both like some kind of ping-pong match. But the silence remained. After what felt like ages, Freddie decided it was up to him to break the silence. Hell, he hoped he didn’t ruin it all.

“I love your hair-”

“So you two met at the market-“

They had spoken at the same time, and Brian had choked on air. Freddie’s chest filled with absolute joy, and he smiled brightly. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Brian smiled while blushing, and Roger was laughing and whooping. _Yes_ , Freddie thought, this could be home for him.

* * *

It was comforting, really. They had fallen into a comfortable equilibrium. They were happy together. They played together and music flowed like a never-ending river. They were lacking a bassist that could really keep up, and even like that their little project was starting to _go places_. When he sang with them, and jammed with them, Freddie felt more alive than ever.

Still, they knew two people were missing. Freddie knew it stressed Brian to no end not knowing who the other two were, but the singer saw no point in worrying about that. They had found each other, after all. They only had to wait and eventually they would find the other two, Freddie was sure.

In the meantime, Freddie moved in with Roger to a tiny flat with a defective heating system and thin walls. Brian had flat out refused to move in with them to _that place_ , as he had called it. Freddie and Roger had laughed. It was fine, they both knew Brian needed his space, pun intended.

He still visited every day, and spent the night more often than not. Both singer and drummer were perfectly aware Brian was by all means and purposes living with them. But hey, if it made him feel better to have his things at another place, Freddie wasn’t going to start complaining.

Surprisingly, John Deacon came next. When he was a child, the singer had thought John would be his classmate, introducing himself like that. But boarding school was over, and no Deacon ever came. He’d enrolled himself in design, but he hadn’t much luck there either.

After meeting both Roger and Brian, the singer had been sure John would be the last one to show up. The three of them shared scrawls, and it would only made sense their fourth would too. Then, they could all meet John together and they’d be _complete_.

He had shared his thoughts with the boys one drunken night. The guitarist only hummed noncommittally and Roger had laughed at him. He rolled his eyes at their reaction, but insisted upon it. Roger had asked if he was willing to bet on that, and he had said yes. They had bet 5 of their most gorgeous jackets, and as he and Rog shook hands, Brian had said it was a bad idea.

And then, of course, John had come along and he had lost the bet horribly. Not that he cared much, anymore. John was the absolute sweetest thing in the world, even if their first meeting had been a bit of a mix up.

Brian, Roger and Freddie all had John’s name on their skin, so it only made sense that the reverse would be true for John. The bassist hadn’t said anything yet, and Brian had nearly had a breakdown that night at the thought of unrequited love _forever_.

Roger had calmed them down by pointing out the only way they could be sure they were soulmates was seeing their words on john with their own eyes, so they had to seduce him and get him naked. Freddie had pointed out they could just _ask_ him, but Brian wasn’t really a fan of openly confronting anyone about something as private as soulmarks. Englishmen were so silly, Freddie thought.

So yeah, they were going with Roger’s plan for the time being. Which meant their soulmarks conversation was still pending. But Freddie wasn’t worrying too much; dating the other three was fun, and Roger obviously had a great time seducing his own soulmate, even if he _was_ getting impatient by John’s blindness on the subject.

Some months later, a cat appeared in the back alley near the trash cans. It was too thin and covered in dirt, and it meowed pathetically when Freddie approached. Honestly, it was all Freddie could do not to start crying right then. Roger was in class, so Freddie had to make an executive decision.

He took it in, fed it, gave it a bath, realized _it_ was actually a _she_ and proceeded to cuddle with her until Roger came back. When he opened the door, she meowed in welcome, and Freddie’s heart melted. Roger had rolled his eyes at the cat, but had happily cuddled with them.

Nature had gifted Freddie with four soulmarks. Now, Freddie had three of his four soulmates with him, and a cat.

People say you shouldn’t try to bend nature’s will, and all things that were going to happen to you would happen no matter what you did to change that. But Freddie didn’t believe in coincidences, nature was seldom so lazy. Everything happened for a reason.

So when he’d gotten a cat, he’d named her Delilah. Because maybe you couldn’t hurry fate, but there was nothing wrong with giving it a bit of a nudge forward.

* * *

Four days later, right as John stormed off after the Delilah debacle, Freddie started to doubt his own understanding regarding soulmarks for the first time. Maybe nature had plans you shouldn’t interfere with after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much for your awesome comments <3 I love every single one of them, and they make me super happy. 
> 
> I don’t know anything about Hinduism. Radharani IS a Goddess but that is about all I know. If any of you lovelies know more about it, I’d love to hear what you have to say. 
> 
> Just so it doesn't get all confusing, Freddie’s soulmarks are:  
> \- Delilah is a cat  
> \- So you two met at the market  
> \- That shirt is a crime  
> \- My name is John Richard Deacon, and I was born on August the 19th, 1951
> 
> Also, if you see any typos, let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian liked to think of them as a quadruple star system, orbiting one another and balancing their gravitational pulls. It worked, but just as those systems, scientists couldn’t really explain how it worked.
> 
> And because he didn’t understand how it worked, Brian feared it would fall apart at the most insignificant change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Annieapple, because she's so amazing <3 like, you guys should go give her all the love because she deserves it

Brian didn’t really get what was happening. One second John had been all happy holding Delilah, the ugliest cat in a 10 block radius, then Roger was having a hysterical fit over the name of the cat, then they had almost come to blows, then Roger was stripping down while screaming his head off, then John was running away like he had seen the devil himself.

It had all happened so fast than when Brian finally broke out of his horrified haze, the only thing he could do was hurry to the window. He caught sight of John’s distinct strides almost running away, right before turning a corner. Should they run after him?

He turned back to the room, mouth hanging open.  _ What had just happened? _ The apartment had gone eerily quiet. Freddie was still standing in the kitchen door, eyes wide open and dangerously shiny. He had wrapped his arms around himself and was hunching forward slightly. Roger was standing in the middle of the living room, pants pooled around his ankles, breathing heavily, hands balled up in tight fists. 

The silence stretched on. A part of Brian wanted to run after John. He had left his coat behind, it was starting to rain. Not much, but London had horrible weather all the time. You had to have a coat. 

Another part of him wanted to whack Roger. What had he done?  _ Why _ had he done that? Brian got it, sure, he was upset about the whole Delilah business, first proof ever John was somehow soulmark-related to the three of them, but was it enough to react like that? 

“Well, that was a mess” muttered Brian, rubbing his face tiredly. This was supposed to be a  _ fun _ night, the semester had just ended, and Brian was just so exhausted. And now he had to deal with  _ this _ . Looking up, he watched as Roger angrily pulled up his pants and the guitarist tried to keep his annoyance at bay. He had to remain calm for John’s sake, for his own sake. Of course, life was seldom so kind. Out of nowhere, Delilah meowed one of her pathetic whines and tried to rub against Roger’s legs. 

“Oh, for fuck’s- Sod off!” and with that Roger pushed Delilah with a bit more force than necessary. Just when he was about to open his mouth, Freddie exploded. 

“Leave her alone! She had nothing to do with this, you horrible-! How could you do that? How could you just- without consulting with us first! As if you’re the only one who- How could you!” and the tears Brian had previously seen in the singer’s eyes were still there, but now Freddie looked angrier than Brian had ever seen him. He was red in the face, and he was starting to clip his consonants, showing a bit of accent. He was losing it. He was screaming like there was no tomorrow. 

Brian closed his eyes, he could feel a migraine coming hard and fast. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to just be  _ home _ , away from all this chaos. 

“Didn’t you want him to know? Well, now he knows!!” Roger screeched back.

“Knows? Knows what, exactly? That you’ve got Delilah onyour stupid leg! That doesn’t mean anything!!” Freddie shouted. And of course, now Delilah herself had joined the fight, meowing louder than Brian had heard any cat ever. “How dare you? We’ve been waiting for months! Months of him not realizing we’re his soulmates! I wanted to talk to him from the beginning and we didn’t because of you!”

“Oh, right! Now this is all my fault! John being so dense he cannot see we’re his soulmates is my fault!”

Brian’s head was pounding. He pressed his fingertips to his eyes until he saw white. 

“I was the one who wanted to talk to him in the first place!” 

“Then why didn’t you?!” Roger’s voice was starting to pitch high, and the sodding cat meowed with gusto.

“Because you said you wanted to seduce him! You said we should take him on stupid dates!”

“You were part of those dates too, don’t you remember? You suggested some of them too!” higher and higher. “And if it bothered you so much, you should have stopped me! If you thought not talking to him was such a bad idea, you should have stopped me!”

“How was I supposed to know you wanted to be stopped, Roger?!” Freddie was using the full power of his lungs now. “What am I, a fucking genie or something?!”

“Well, you should have known! Aren’t you my soulmate?!” 

And at that, it was like the dam containing Brian’s anger had broken and suddenly he was joining Freddie in the screaming match. 

“You’re such a hypocrite! ‘Why didn’t you stop me’” Brian did a very bad impersonation of Roger, walking to them “You impose your ways and you whine when you don’t get your way!”

“And of course you think you’re blameless, Mr. I’m-always-right! You were too much of a coward you didn’t want us to talk to John either!” shrieked Roger, face red. “Now I’m taking the fall for all of us just because I was the only one who-”

“Roger, you said you had a plan! You brag so much about your conquests we thought you were capable of actually-!” screamed Freddie. 

“-you push, and you prod, and you don’t know when to stop! And then you need me or Fred to do the dirty work for you!” And a part of Brian knew they were going a bit too far with this, but now that he had started, he didn’t seem to be able to shut up.

“-said you loved me! And it was  _ you _ who-“ Roger wasn’t backing down, but his voice had started to quiver. And any other time, Brian would have realized it was time to stop, but he was blind to reason.

“You’re so full of bullshit, Roger! You always do this! You do it to me, you do it to Bri, and now you’ve fucking done it to John and it’s the last straw! We don’t know if John will ever come back! And if this is the end and John never comes back I want you to know that I think it was your fault!” the room fell silent after that. Now that was a bit of a stretch, it was just Freddie living for the drama. John would come back for his coat if nothing else.  _ Maybe not _ , Brian’s brain provided. 

And then, just like that, Roger started crying. But not sniffling, as Brian had always imagined the drummer would cry, but full-on  _ wailing _ . He fell to his knees and cried, open-mouthed, nose running. It wasn’t pretty, but Roger cried like he did everything else: truthfully. With all his heart. 

He didn’t hide, and he didn’t try to hold it in, he just cried. And Brian was truly impressed by it because Roger was so brave. Brave enough to cry in front of them, something Brian himself would feel rather queasy about. Sure, they were soulmates, but Brian was still hesitant to give it all away. 

But both Freddie and Brian were so shocked by the drummer’s reaction that they actually calmed down. It was as if the fog was clearing from his mind, and now he felt awful. He remembered what he had said and felt guilt churning in his stomach. 

The guitarist kneeled by his boyfriend’s side, but wasn’t sure touching him was the best choice. So he just let his hands hover over Roger’s shoulders and tried very hard to think of something to say. He looked up at the singer, and Brian could see he was still angry. Fred was still flushed, and his mouth was tensing just so. But now he was worried too. 

He came forward and fell to his knees. After just a second of hesitation, Freddie wrapped his arms around Roger. The drummer’s hands immediately came up to fist Freddie’s shirt.

“I’m sorry.” Whispered Fred against his hair. And then, the only thing they heard was Roger crying wetly in the singer’s neck. Brian wrapped his arms around them both and rocked them slightly. Delilah burrowed her way into Roger’s arms, right in the middle of their awkward hug.

Roger calmed down slowly. At some point, Freddie had started humming a tune. It was beautiful, even if Brian had never heard it before. Brian had kissed both their cheeks several times, consoling them as much as consoling himself. Eventually, after what felt like hours, they broke their embrace. 

Both singer and drummer looked a mess, eyes puffy, hair everywhere. Roger’s hair was sticking to his face awkwardly and Freddie’s eyeliner was smudged around his eyes. Of course, Brian’s migraine was still there, and when he rubbed his hand over his face, he discovered he had been crying too. 

“I’m sorry” whispered Roger petting Delilah. He sounded defeated, and Brian  _ hated _ it. 

“No, dear. We are all to blame here. We should have spoken up sooner” Freddie shook his head.

“I don’t think you’re a coward, Bri” said Roger looking at him from under his lashes. Brian sighed.

“I know.” He sighed again, his head was pounding. “I don’t think you’re a hypocrite… and if you always get your way it’s because we agree with you”

They fell silent again. The cat was purring. 

“I actually really enjoyed the dates” sighed Freddie. At that, the drummer looked up with a smile.

“We should have talked about it sooner, as you suggested” conceded Roger. “Poor Brian had to tape his fingers all this time;  you must have them  sore by now”

Brian huffed a laugh. Taping his fingers was very annoying, but they hadn’t wanted for John to accidentally see his marks. Which was very hard when you were constantly rehearsing together and going on dates, in Brian’s humble opinion. Freddie took his left hand in his and started untaping it. 

When he was done, he lifted Brian’s hand and kissed his palm, and it made the guitarist tingle all over. He cradled Brian’s hand on his lap and Roger reached out to them, trying to lace his fingers with both Fred and Brian. 

“In all truth, I was getting incredibly impatient” laughed the drummer humorlessly. Brian snorted and received an elbow on the ribs for his troubles. “I was hoping John realized the truth a lot sooner than this” 

At that, the three of them smiled. Brian was about to suggest they move to the couch when they heard a voice from the doorway.

“Realize what?”

* * *

Much to their collective relief, John had come back looking not much worse for wear. He looked tired and stressed out. His hair was a mess, all frizzy and tangled, and his nose was red, but overall he looked alright.

They all started talking at the same time and John had lifted a hand to shut them up. He had declared he needed tea first, and proceeded to go into the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

Sometime later, Brian, Freddie, and Roger were huddled in the couch, and John was occupying the armchair, which he had moved and placed right in front of them. They all had tea, and Freddie and Roger were sharing a huge blanket that had appeared out of nowhere.

_ What’s going on _ . That was the only thing John had asked, in a defeated tone. The three of them had volunteered Freddie to explain, because he loved a good story and rejoiced in details that would probably fly over Brian’s head if it was left to him. 

So Freddie had explained his own story. How he was born with four soulmarks, how he had met both Roger and right after Brian. They had all seen his arm’s soulmarks before, even John, and he knew the story too. But they listened again to Freddie talk about the awful shirt and shoes a random man wore years ago and how had he met Roger, they listened to him talk about his first market date with the drummer and his anxiety over meeting Brian. 

And then, Freddie had hesitated, but not for long. Pulling his socks, he lifted his left foot, and John had gasped. There it was, in the handwriting they had all learned to recognize, John’s full name. And John Richard Deacon had looked at his own name for the longest time before looking up at them. He was  _ crying _ . 

John had looked at Brian and Roger hopefully, but without demanding anything. And that had been Brian’s clue to offer his own hand. John took it in his and lifted it to his lips just like Freddie had done not an hour earlier. Brian cradled the bassist's face and smiled, receiving a small smile back, and more tears.  _ Happy tears _ , he thought. 

After some wiggling and shuffling around, Roger had managed to pull his right foot from under him. Teasingly, John had asked if he didn’t get another look at Roger’s legs. The drummer had laughed and nudged him with his foot before pulling up the hem of his pants. There, around his ankle, was John’s name. 

Tearfully, John had pulled off his shirt. Roger had reached out to touch his own dinner cancellation scribbled over Deaky’s ribs. Freddie’s had his handwriting right under the bassist left clavicle. Brian smiled at his own tight scrawl near John’s bellybutton. Three small words marking him as Brian’s.

They stayed like that for a while, holding each other’s hands and just breathing it in. The guitarist’s migraine hadn’t completely gone down, but he was keeping the worst of it at bay. 

Then, of course, John had demanded to know what could possibly have taken them so long, and just why hadn’t he been informed of their connection as soon as it had happened. The three of them had at least looked sheepish enough for John to cut them some slack after explaining.

Roger had teared up a bit again explaining how he had wanted John to fall in love with them for who they were and not because they had his name on their skin. Brian knew the whole ‘being bounded by faith’ concept bothered Roger, so he could understand why the drummer had been so adamant on not telling John. 

At that, Freddie had started crying too and had apologized for not taking his seduction plan more seriously. Brian wanted to laugh, but he managed to talk himself out of it. Both singer and drummer were such dorks, Brian couldn’t believe it. They lived for histrionics, the pair of them.

In the end, they all cuddled up on the couch until the sun set across the city and Delilah started meowing for food in the kitchen.

* * *

Having John finally around was fantastic if anyone cared to ask Brian. In a way, nothing had changed. They still went on band bonding time, as Freddie had baptized their dates. They still bickered during rehearsals. 

But there were some ways everything was different now. Roger winked at them all the time, and Freddie’s casual touches had taken a completely different undertone. Brian knew he himself was making the lewdest comments at every chance he got, just because he could, and because John eyes would go dark in the greatest of ways. 

Their relationship aside, the band was going absolutely great. Now that they had John with them, music was flowing effortlessly. Brian had never been happier about being in a band.

Still, Brian thought about their last one constantly. What would they be like? At this rate, Brian thought it was unlikely they were female. So Brian liked to think about their last soulmate as  _ him _ . Up until this point, the four of them had been musicians. Would their last one be a musician too? 

Brian knew he was an anxious person. He would  _ worry _ . All the time. He could spend a lot of time just sitting on his bed, thinking about all the things that could go wrong. 

According to the rest of the band, if their fourth soulmate was a musician, it would be  _ amazing _ and life was going to be  _ fantastic _ . The mysterious person would play with them, compose with them, and laugh with them in the studio. What could possibly go wrong?

Only Brian had thought of all the things that could go wrong with that. If the other one was a drummer, what would they do? Set up two sets of drums? How could that work for Queen?

If the other one was a bassist, and didn’t want to switch to guitar, John had said he could switch to guitar. He wouldn’t  _ love _ it, but he was willing to for the sake of the band and their relationship. 

He himself had said that if the other one was a guitarist, he’d have no problem arranging their songs to fit two guitars. Only deep down he knew that was bullshit. 

He was proud of being Queen’s guitarist. Sure, John and Rog and even Fred sometimes could play guitar, but no one like him. When he played, he knew exactly what he was doing. Still, he held no illusions. Brian had always been acutely aware of just how much he still had to learn. 

So, in the face of that, what if their soulmate was a guitarist, just like Brian, only he was  _ better _ than Brian? Brian compared himself, he couldn’t help it. He tried not to, but he did. 

Brian had always been good at playing, and he had often been considered the best compared to his classmates. He had been called brilliant. Still, Brian couldn’t help but wonder how would he react if their last soulmate was a guitarist, and he was  _ great _ at it. 

Would he love him as much?  _ Could _ he love him as much, knowing he would be comparing himself with the other every single second for the rest of their lives together? And how long would it be before that broke them up, tearing them piece by piece until there was nothing left?

Could he bear to know he was breaking up both the band and their lives? 

* * *

All his life, Brian had dreaded meeting his others. There were just so many. It wasn’t  _ decent _ . He had received odd looks all his life, and even his own family thought it was strange. 

But what the world at large thought about his life didn’t matter as much as what his soulmates would think of him. Brian knew he was smart, but he was painfully aware of his inability to keep his mouth shut around other people’s stupidity. He had been reliably informed he could get downright  _ nasty _ if he thought he was right. Which he usually was. 

So yes, meeting his soulmates was a constant source of stress for him. 

He had met Roger, and it had been so not what he was expecting. It was a  _ man _ for starters. Not that he had anything against men dating men –he was, after all, dating three men himself-. It was just that he had never considered the possibility of it being other than girls. 

Roger had turned out to be everything he couldn’t have expected to love. He was loud and quick to bursts of emotion. He liked fast things in life: fast cars, fast music, fast sex. He was full of sharp edges and contradictions, and Brian loved him. 

And then Freddie had come along, filling his life with a whole other kind of musicality. Where Roger was science fiction and futurism, Freddie was fairytales and fantasy lands. The first time Brian had invited him over to stargaze, the singer had very loudly agreed. And Brian had been super excited to have someone he could actually share this with. 

Freddie didn’t disappoint, per se. But it was completely different than what Brian had expected –and  _ why _ had he been surprised at that, really-. As soon as they were in the countryside, and Brian had set up his telescope, Fred had started singing to the stars. Then, he had gifted Brian with hundreds of myths surrounding stars and what they represented in different cultures. And Brian’s facts of distance and shape and space dust had been the least of their concerns. 

Months passed, Freddie and Roger moved in together, and he refused to do the same. He studied, started teaching at college, he played guitar. And then, just as the dust was beginning to settle, John had arrived. 

John was funny and smart. He was quiet, for a change, but Brian adored that he never shut his mouth on important subjects. He had a kind of control over himself –and them- that Brian deeply admired. He let Freddie and Roger squabble for a while before he quietly but firmly set his foot down. After all this time, Brian couldn’t get over the way John danced. He could watch the bassist for  _ hours _ . 

Somehow, it had all worked out for them. They were friends, they were bandmates and they were lovers. Each of them played a unique and irreplaceable role in their equilibrium. Brian liked to think of them as a quadruple star system, orbiting one another and balancing their gravitational pulls. It worked, but just as those systems, scientists couldn’t really explain  _ how _ it worked. 

And because he didn’t understand how it worked, Brian feared it would fall apart at the most insignificant change. When he thought about his unknown soulmate, he wondered in what kind of situation would he hear those words.  _ This has got to be a joke _ . 

Best case scenario, Brian would hear that in passing. Something not directed at him but said close enough that he would hear it. Worst case scenario -and this was something that had replayed in his head over and over again since he learned what blind dates were-, his soulmate would take one look at him and utter the dreaded words.

Now, with his new insecurities about their last soulmate being a musician, Brian’s nightmares had refined. If luck was against him, his soulmate would hear him playing and he would just say the words that would break him.

So Brian thought about their last soulmate constantly, and he  _ worried _ . He worried their delicate balance would be broken and they couldn’t manage to figure things out before it all fell apart. 

“What if it doesn’t work out? It’s so hard already” against his better judgment, he had shared his concerns with Roger one night. He tried not to, because this was an issue he tried very hard to hide from the others, but it was difficult not to confide in the drummer. He was his oldest soulmate, after all. 

“Hard?” Roger had frowned at that.

“Not that- Not that I don’t love it, it’s not that” he had stammered. “It’s just that-“

“Just what?” had prompted the drummer.

“It’s just I’ve never been good with people”

Roger snorted. “I think you’re doing fine up until now, Bri.”

He had shrugged. Maybe he was doing alright with them only being four, but quintuple star systems were  _ extremely _ rare, and most of those collapsed sooner rather than later. 

“Come to bed” had said Roger softly, kissing his shoulder. Brian smiled but shook his head. “You’re getting too much into your own head, it’s not healthy”

“Explain to me how to shut my brain off and of course I’ll gladly do it, Rog” he had snorted.

“I could make you stop thinking” purred the drummer in his ear. It was tempting, but Brian wasn’t in the mood. 

“Nice try, Rog. Go to bed.” He had placed a soft kiss against Roger’s lips and the other had gone. A part of him regretted having rejected Roger, but the better part of him just wanted to stay here and brood. 

Not five minutes had passed when he heard a soft meow right behind his back. He rolled his eyes, but still let her rub against his back for a while. He stayed up all night, but at some point, he had ended up with an armful of a sleeping cat. 

Against his better judgment, he enjoyed it.

* * *

There was the Delilah issue. Brian tried not to resent it too much. After all, it really wasn’t anyone’s fault that the other three shared their  _ Delilah _ . He knew at least John had guessed how he felt, but they hadn’t talked about it and the guitarist would rather keep it that way.

Brian knew if he complained about the issue, he would just end up sounding bitchy and overly whiny. The others couldn’t understand how he felt, because they weren’t in his position. They had never had to know the other three would be together when they heard their fourth for the first time. Brian was the odd one out.

And it was stupid because Brian had a fourth too. But it wasn’t the same. 

Fred, Rog and he had shared John’s scribble, and  _ still, _ it wasn’t the same. Because when they had met Deaky they hadn’t had a fourth already with them who would feel left out and alone as Brian felt now. 

Now, Brian was going to be alone when it happened. That knowledge was a constant source of stress for him. What if he fucked up? What if their last didn’t want him but he did want the other three?

So he looked at their shared soulmarks and couldn’t help the sting in his chest.

_ Delilah is a cat _ .

At first, he hadn’t liked the cat. He had tried very hard  _ not _ to like the cat. The cat was a constant reminder of his own lacking scribble. 

But years had passed, and no one ever came to state Delilah’s feline nature. And slowly but surely, Delilah had become a rock in their relationship. She was a constant. No matter what happened in their crazy lives, they could always rely on Delilah to get them back on earth by whining about her plate of food being  _ empty _ . 

Freddie found it adorable; Brian just thought it was annoying. Cats were so smart. Why would she  _ whine _ when she could literally  _ see _ the food there, just pushed to the sides. Still, every time he had to shake her plate, she meowed in thanks. And his heart ached. 

Now, they all loved that cat. Delilah was a source of constant entertainment for Freddie. Freddie could spend hours on end just watching the cat. Or singing with the cat, or even  _ dancing  _ with her. 

It made Brian laugh every time he saw Roger rolling his eyes and huffing about  _ that wretched cat.  _ Roger pretended not to like her. He really did, with all his might. Delilah tried to pretend she didn’t like Roger back. Still, they had caught Roger countless times just napping with her on the sofa, or by the pool. 

Deaky always tried to cuddle her, and Delilah would purr delighted whenever this happened. But it was the weirdest thing. Because just like that first time, Delilah would simply melt in his arms, making it almost impossible for Deaky to hold her.  _ Every single time she turns into goo _ , complained John,  _ why does she do that? _

And after all these years, Brian wasn’t at all surprised to find that he loved Delilah with all his might, the ugliest most awful cat he had ever met. Despite not having her name on him, despite it not being  _ fated.  _

She would curl up in his lap or by him on the sofa when he stayed up late reading. She would come with him when he strolled around the house. When he got home at night, she would meow him all her adventures of the day and he would of course answer with the appropriate amount of  _ oohs _ and  _ ahhhs _ and  _ is that so _ . 

More than once, she had slipped into his bag and come with him to the studio. He wouldn’t realize it until she was already there, because she would stay very still and quiet the entire ride. The first time, it had sent Fred into a frenzy because he thought she had escaped and was probably dead in some alley. 

But it had become a habit for her. Although he would rather die than admit it, it actually made him immensely happy that she only went to the studio with him. 

If he and Delilah spent a night or two cuddling when the others were asleep, that was their little secret. 

Things were going great, in Brian’s opinion. Queen had become a huge deal, they were more popular than ever. Sure, they had their ups and downs along the way, but they always managed to pull through. 

Years passed, faster than Brian cared to admit. Delilah had gone from a cute kitten to a rebellious teenager to a rather lazy adult cat. They had bought a huge mansion, more space than they actually needed. Their band bonding time was a tradition now because  _ nothing kills love faster than routine _ according to Roger. All in all, they were profoundly happy.

Until the day Delilah suddenly went missing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAT FEELS. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Also, insecure Brian. So sad, poor baby.
> 
> Your comments are life, you guys are so amazing, I never expected having such a great feedback <3 I'm literally so in love with you all


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the possible scenarios Jim had imagined over the years, this had never been one of them. Out of all the times he had gone to the movies to watch some kind of romantic comedy that had him musing about his own soulmates, he had never, ever, not once, thought he would meet his soulmates like this. 
> 
> That he would meet them all at the same time. Or that he would meet them thanks to a cat he had randomly helped. Or that Delilah might not be a person after all. And why hadn’t it ever occurred to him that Delilah might not be a person but a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! Go read the chapter right now and we'll talk in the end notes ;)

Today hadn’t been a great day for Jim. It simply hadn’t.

He had woken up late, which never happened. Then, he had banged his head against the door frame when hurrying out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to try and save his toast from burning. And while usually Jim was a rather decent cook, if he did say so himself, this toast was burnt to its very core. He still ate it, with a blooming headache and a grimace at the taste.

But Jim was nothing if not an optimist, and he had always believed being happy was a choice you made every day. He let himself feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face, and he felt content about his life.

Jim enjoyed biking, and he knew London very well. So he took some shortcuts through side streets and alleyways to avoid traffic.

Then, a small movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He stopped and turned to look. In the ditch, beaten up and looking up at him, was the ugliest cat Jim had seen in a very long time. When it caught his eye, the cat meowed pathetically and so very loud, and Jim’s heart clenched.

The gardener shook his head, and resumed his way. Only to stop not ten yards away, gripping the handles tightly.

He turned to look again, and sure enough, there was the cat. And Jim just couldn’t leave a wounded animal like that. It would haunt him forever. Groaning at his own weak heart, and knowing this would mean working extra later on, he left the bike to one side of the road and walked slowly to the cat.

Jim kneeled and let his hand get close enough for the cat to smell it. Cats were different than dogs, but they still liked to see what was touching them before it touched them.

Up close, the gardener could see the cat had bite marks on its face and paws, and a badly scraped side. It made Jim's eyes swell up in tears. The cat meowed again at him.

“What happened to you, little one?” he asked the cat, and Jim could hear how small his voice was. He took off his jacket to wrap the animal up, and lifted it as slowly as he could. He received meows again, but they didn’t sound as pained as before. If he was being indulgent, Jim could almost believe this cat was thanking him.

“Don’t worry, baby” he whispered, as he mounted his bike again and carefully held the bundle against his chest with one arm. “You’ll be right as rain in no time, I promise, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

He guessed he would just have to skip work today, after all.

* * *

Jim had lived his life dreaming about finding his soulmates. It was hard not to. Movies and books were constantly romancing soulmates.

Jim remembered clearly the day his mother had taken him to the opera. His mother had wanted for him to have a better life. More money, yes, for him to live a comfortable life. But most importantly, she had wanted to awaken his spirit, and give him dreams she hadn’t been able to have.

So one day, his mother had taken him to the opera. She had spent the money her boss had given her as a Christmas gift, and she had bought the cheapest tickets on sale. Jim didn’t remember much, aside from the fact that he hadn’t understood the language spoken.

Still, the image of undying love had stuck with him, of a woman waiting for her soulmate even when it hurt her very soul, raising his son until the day he returned. Jim’s mother had known, right from the beginning, that he was destined to live an epic tale of love. _That’s why you have so many scrawls, my love_.

_Madama Butterfly_ had been the first epic love story he had treasured.

Growing up, Jim had fawned over Hollywood movies just as much as any girl in his classroom. The idea of having people out there just destined for you was something he couldn’t help but find terribly romantic.

As he grew, romance novels became his guilty pleasure. He knew life didn’t happen like in the books, but Jim still spent a lot of time daydreaming. 

* * *

Right after he had picked the cat up, Jim had spotted the shiny collar on its neck. And he had stopped in his tracks.

“Just where did you run away from, darling?” he whispered as he brushed away the hair to properly see the band. It wasn’t just any collar. Jim had been tending gardens for the upper class in London long enough now to recognize precious gems when he saw them. Swallowing heavily, he had removed the cat’s collar right there. It was better if no one saw that, not the vet he was going to take the cat to, and not anyone passing by as he was riding his bike.

Before shoving it deep in his lunch bag, Jim had checked if the collar had any names. It didn’t, it was just a long row of shiny pink and white stones. The cat had meowed at him, as if asking what he was doing.

“Why didn’t your parents put your name on your collar, huh?” he asked the cat, walking up to the vet’s door. The animal only meowed in return, equally perplexed at not having a name.

Taking the cat to the veterinarian had been a wild experience for Jim, who hadn’t had a pet in many years. He had forgotten just how crowded a vet’s waiting room could get. Dogs barking, cats meowing, birds chirping, and owners talking incessantly.

Jim had also forgotten just how involved he got with pets. He couldn’t believe there were people who thought pets didn’t have their own little minds, with their own little thoughts, preferences, and memories. It just amazed the gardener how people could be so unbelievably blind to their own pets’ intelligence.

This particular cat he was holding was obviously in pain, but it was also observing every single thing around them as if it understood perfectly what was happening.

Thankfully for everyone involved, the cat’s wounds weren’t very deep. The vet had said it had probably been a scuffle with another cat, a very common occurrence among strays. This cat was female, had been spayed, and would need some antibiotics. Plus, her wounds would have to be cleaned regularly for the next ten days. Other than that, she was surprisingly healthy.

Now, having given her pain medication, and safely on their way back to Jim’s flat, the gardener wondered what he would do now.

* * *

Jim liked to think he was a man who had reasonable dreams and expectations. He knew how to handle his money and his time. He helped his neighbors and friends when they needed him, he fed stray dogs on his way to work as often as he could afford it. He volunteered at an animal shelter.

Still, Jim was the first to admit he could be a bit vain. When going out, he wasn’t the most extravagant person in the bar, he wasn’t the fittest, or the prettiest, but he liked to think he looked good. He put time and effort into taking care of his skin, he carefully groomed his mustache so it wouldn’t look messy.

He loved clothing, and could admire fashion sense in others. So when a friend had shoved a photo of some musicians up his face a few years back, he could appreciate the beauty in their features, and their impeccable fashion sense.

Jim could admire their bravery. The front man wore full-body spandex tights and heavy eyeliner. The guitarist wore white shirts with long sleeves and even longer curls. Their bassist wore denim and daring platforms. The drummer had long blond hair, a penchant for printed fabric and beaded necklaces.

In all truth, the gardener wasn’t much into music, had never had enough time to keep up with the bands and the gossip. Still, Jim knew this particular band was still around, and were still rocking some gorgeous outfits.

* * *

The cat’s name was Mary. Probably.

Of course, Jim couldn’t be one hundred percent sure about it, but it was likely the cat’s name was Mary. She always meowed at hearing that name, and both of them had heard it plenty a few hours after they had gotten home. Jim’s neighbors had had a huge fight about their daughter, Mary, and the cat had meowed loudly every time the name appeared.

The gardener let the cat into the couch, where she napped all afternoon. Jim had napped too, emotionally exhausted at having found her.

The next few days went by in a blur. Jim woke up as usual, but now a cat was there, meowing at him as a good morning greeting. He made breakfast for them both, and left for work after cleaning her wounds. When he got home, they would eat and then cuddle up for a while.

Mary was an incredibly smart cat. Out of all the things Jim was amazed at, the fact that she listened to music was probably the one that impressed him the most.

After a week had passed, Jim finally had some time to turn on the radio and listen to some music. Mary had been purring around his ankles as he finished doing the dishes when suddenly a funky song had started playing. Mary had lost it. She started meowing with all her might, drawing the sounds longer and louder than he had ever heard any cat make. 

Jim had hurried to turn off the radio, and Mary had stopped her shrieking. If anyone cared to ask, the gardener could have sworn she had an offended look on her tiny flat face. He turned on the radio, and the ruckus had started over. He turned it off, and Mary shot him another one of her _just-what-do-you-think-you-are-playing-at-here_ looks, but closed her mouth. He did this two more times, and laughed at the result.

“Yes, I don’t like Queen all that much either” he laughed while picking her up, she answered with a pensive meow. “They have been all over the place for years now, you know” Mary answered she hadn’t heard much of them.

“Even you have to admit that Another One Bites The Dust is quite catchy” said Jim, letting her on the bed and turning off the bedside lamp. Mary made a noncommittal sound at that.

“Well, they are all rather handsome, aren’t they? Not really what I would go for usually, but a man has eyes.”

Mary wisely replied he was better off not fantasizing about those musicians. She was right, of course. She was a very clever cat.

* * *

Jim often thought about the scrawls he had. He knew many people would find having four scribbles upsetting, but Jim just found it curious. He had never met anyone with these many soulmarks in his life, and he had never met anyone with several scrawls whose soulmarks were directly related to one other. Instead, he had four _Delilahs_ on his forearms telling a story he couldn’t quite catch yet.

In many movies, and most books, the main character met their soulmate in some romantic scenario, with the bright sun setting in the back, and violins playing all around. And in these movies, there was always the loyal friend who had known all along, who had wanted the two main characters to meet sooner, the constant companion with a heart of gold.

Movies never told you much about this side character. It was important for the story to develop, but not important enough for the movie to spend any screen time letting you know this side character’s likes and dreams.

Some people were destined to be rich and famous, and some people were destined to be sidekicks. Jim was the latter.

One day, he would meet Delilah, the woman who would lead him to his soulmates.

_Delilah, you had your dad worried sick_.

Delilah would be the one who had done something to worry her dad, maybe because of her rebellious spirit.

_I love you, Delilah._

Delilah would be the lovable woman who would capture the heart of Jim’s soulmate. And the gardener would be there, the day his soulmate declared their love to someone who wasn’t Jim. He would be there, and he would have to have his heart broken.

_I’m never letting you out of the house ever again, Delilah_

Delilah would be the damsel in distress who couldn’t help being the victim of the Villain. This person would hurt her, would threaten her. When the time came, would Jim have to come to blows with his own soulmate in order to defend Delilah? Would he have to go to the police and report them?

Of course, Jim knew criminals had soulmates. Murderers and rapists had soulmates. Could Jim’s soulmate be a murderer? A kidnapper?

_Delilah, I thought you were dead_

Delilah would be the one who survived, who pushed through. The strong protagonist who could outlive all danger, who had stayed alive even after her encounter with the Villain.

And Jim would be there, always supporting her. Always by her side, as was his due, until Delilah herself found her soulmate. The movie ends, the credits roll.

Jim would be close to Delilah for a long time, and as the movie centered on her, the gardener would meet his soulmates by chance, always in association with her.

Jim was a side character. He had long come to that conclusion, and most days he could pretend he didn’t resent it anymore.

* * *

Once a month, Jim worked on the same garden in upstate London with five other gardeners. The lady of the house had been hiring them for over eight years now to tend to her yard. It was nice, and Jim could appreciate that this woman actually put an effort into taking care of her garden.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked with a frown. All the others were gathered around the tiny radio they kept on the shack. He received a rather rude hushing. Jim rolled his eyes and sat on the bench to put on his working boots.

“ _…Mercury has once again issued a reward for whoever helps him find his beloved pet_ ” a man’s voice was saying over the static.

“ _That’s right, Michael. And the sum Mercury is offering is quite big. I wouldn’t be surprised if people start looking for that animal all over the city_ ” a woman’s voice chirped. Still, Jim didn’t pay much attention to what they were saying. Perhaps he should add fertilizing to the roses today, they were starting to droop in this awful weather.

“ _The singer has also…_ ” the man’s voice was lost in static, and the other gardeners groaned. Jim chuckled, grabbed his scissors and got out under the sun.

Joseph, one of the other gardeners, always stopped by for a cup of tea after work on these days. Today wasn’t different, and when the gardener opened the door, Mary meowed happily as a greeting.

“That’s one ugly cat” was the first thing Joseph said upon entering. For someone who could objectively say that perhaps Mary wasn’t canonically beautiful, Jim felt profoundly insulted. His friend laughed at Jim’s affronted look.

Mary still rubbed against the other man’s legs.

“Where did it come from?” asked Joseph, lifting the cat for a proper cuddle. 

“I rescued her” Jim said, feeling slightly betrayed at Mary being so comfortable in Joseph’s arms. The other gardener hummed, petting Mary’s head.

“Did you hear that some musicians lost their cat too? Apparently it has some very expensive necklace on her. Precious gems and all” Joseph laughed, but Jim’s heart stuttered. He couldn’t help but glance at the kitchen drawer he had stuffed Mary’s collar in. But Joseph kept talking, oblivious to Jim’s predicament. “Are you the lost cat, ugly baby? Are you?”

“Don’t call her ugly!” the gardener replied, with a bit more force than what was necessary. He felt very protective of her, even when they had been together for a relatively short amount of time. Mary said she didn’t mind him calling her that, because she knew she was gorgeous.

Jim’s friend laughed but thankfully changed the subject. Jim went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, but his mind kept coming back to the thing with the lost cat and the necklace. The gardener couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

* * *

In retrospect, Jim could have said something was bound to happen on this particular day. Mary had been loud and whiny, she had refused to eat even when Jim had given her delicious food and then she had smashed a flower vase. Maybe she was falling ill, but Jim had the nagging feeling Mary was just being a brat.

The gardener had called out a goodbye for her when leaving the flat for work, but she hadn’t answered. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and closed the door.

Half an hour later, after pedaling his way through London, Jim understood just why his backpack was so unexpectedly heavy today. There, snuggled between his lunch, his gardening gloves and spare shirt, was Mary smiling up at him.

She jumped into his arms and purred happily. Still, Jim wasn’t really sure what to do now. Should he go back and leave her at his flat? The gardener looked around. The dahlias needed a lot of work today, and he really couldn’t afford to spend an hour biking to and from home.

“You need to stay still, alright, love?” Jim told the cat seriously, she looked up at him intently. “I need to work on these flowers, and then we can go back home, okay?” Mary meowed in return that she was very well-behaved all the time, thank you very much.

The gardener worked hard for the next few hours, checking every so often on Mary. The cat had explored around for a little while before deciding to spend her day sleeping on Jim’s backpack. That was alright, one less thing to worry about.

Sweating, Jim got up to stretch his back. He left out a small satisfied sigh, regarding his work. He loved these moments, when you had worked hard and could see the results in front of you. In some weeks, the dahlias would be growing tall and strong.

Suddenly, Mary let out a high whine. Jim turned around so fast his lower back hurt a little. Mary had woken up and was looking straight at him. For a second that seemed to last forever, then just stayed still like that. Then, she was sprinting away through the bushes.

“-no!” the yell left him like he had been punched. He ran after her, through the bushes and across the neighbor’s yard. Jim could see her hairy tail just as it disappeared over the tall fence. He jumped, pulling himself up and over it.

A part of him was very impressed at his own body for being so athletic when he had been sure years were weighing on him more than he had been willing to admit. Still, most of his concentration was focused on not losing the cat out of his sight.

Jumping from the brick wall, the gardener fell into the bushes of a third house. He heard high pitched voices and frantic screams. _Fuck_. Jim ran faster, turning a corner and almost falling over. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see, but three men cuddling Mary and her purring loudly wasn’t one of those.

“-Delilah, I thought you were dead-”

“-I love you, Delilah”

“-Delilah, you had your dad worried sick!-“

“-I love you so much-“

“-I was so afraid you weren’t alright-“

“-we looked everywhere for you, silly girl-“

His heart stuttered and he almost fell over. Idly, he wondered if it was because of physical strain or the shock of having found his soulmates. 

“Delilah is a _cat?”_ Jim exclaimed, the only thing that he could process at the moment. The three men turned around and froze. Before he could do or say anything else, he heard another voice coming from inside the house and quick steps approaching.

“-I’m never letting you out of the house ever again, Delilah! Never again! You are grounded for life!” someone was rushing past him, holding out his arms for the loudly meowing cat.

Jim’s heart stopped. His throat had closed painfully and his vision was white around the edges.

“This has got to be a joke” Jim said in a broken voice. The man holding the cat turned around so fast she made a sound of protest. One of the other men gasped loudly and he heard a faint curse.

Out of all the possible scenarios Jim had imagined over the years, this had never been one of them. Out of all the times he had gone to the movies to watch some kind of romantic comedy that had him musing about his own soulmates, he had never, ever, not once, thought he would meet his soulmates like this. That he would meet them _all_ _at_ _the same time_. Or that he would meet them thanks to a cat he had randomly helped. Or that Delilah might not be a person after all. And why hadn’t it ever occurred to him that Delilah might not be a person but a _cat_.

The five of them stayed silent for the longest of times. To Jim, it felt like hours.

Here he was. Meeting his soulmates, _all of them_ , and Jim was painfully aware he was wearing his very old, very baggy, and very dirty pair of gardening pants. He was also aware he had been under the sun for hours now, right in the middle of summer, and his shirt was soaked in sweat in a very much unsexy manner. Jim knew his face was flushed in that way he had been told he looked like a choking beet. Jim was _mortified._

Jim had the feeling he had seen these men before, only his brain wasn’t working properly, and he was still seeing white around the edges, so he couldn’t really place their faces. Then, the treacherous cat he had nursed for almost a month meowed happily and the haze broke. 

The man with the moustache opened his mouth to say something, but stopped with a gasp when the one with brown hair and a white overalls grabbed his arm rather forcefully. Jim could see his knuckles turning white and wanted to tell him to _stop_ , he was probably _hurting_ him.

The one holding Delilah hugged her closer to his chest, and Jim thought he looked like he was about to cry. The blond man cleared his throat pointedly, but said nothing.

“-boys, what are you doing out here-“ a man came out of the house and stopped at the scene. Jim had a vague idea how bizarre this must look from the outside. “-what’s going on?”

“He found Delilah!” squealed the one with the moustache.

“Now? Can’t this wait? We are in the middle of-“

“But he found Delilah, Reid. We promised a reward” said the man with the white overalls in a tight voice. 

“Fine. Come with me.” The man that had come to fetch the others said with a flat voice.

“-what” was all Jim managed to croak out. His throat felt extremely dry. The gardener was so confused, like those times you miss a step and you fall without expecting to. These were his soulmates, but the air was extremely tense. And if only his brain cooperated, maybe Jim could grasp what was going on. As it was, his brain power had slowed down to a crawl.

“The money” said this Reid man as if it was obvious. Jim looked at him and then at his soulmates. The four of them looked troubled, some were frowning, some were looking down. Just _what_ was going on.

“Money?” asked Jim. At any other moment, the gardener would have cringed at how dumb he sounded. If only his brain caught up, he would have noticed the tears in the corner of the eyes of the curly haired one, and the way the nose of the blond one kept twitching slightly.

“The money for bringing back the cat” Reid said exasperatedly. His soulmates were still quiet, and it made Jim even more confused. 

“No, thanks. I didn’t do it for the money” the gardener said shaking his head.

“Take it!” shrieked the moustache man, in a loud tone. They all winced at his volume. “I mean, take it, it’s yours- for bringing her back, I mean- we are very happy you brought her back-“ he was stammering, and his cheeks were flushed. Still, the man gripping his arm wouldn’t release him.

“Are you coming or not” Reid said, with a bored tone of voice. And that question just rubbed Jim the wrong way.

“I said no, thank you” Jim said. At his response, mustache man seemed taken aback. The one holding his arm made an aborted sound at the back of his throat, but didn’t say anything. The curly man holding Delilah turned his back to Jim, and the blond one put a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t removed his sunglasses, and a small, treacherous part of his heart regretted not getting to see the other man’s eyes.

“Well, I guess that’s that, then.” Reid said, looking unimpressed. “He doesn’t want your money, now come on, back inside.”

His four soulmates stayed still, and then the one holding Delilah turned to get back into the house. Jim felt his heart breaking.

Fine. If that’s what they wanted, if they wouldn’t even talk to him but just offer him money for him to leave, then fine. He turned around and left the house. He resolutely didn’t look back even when he heard the confused voice of Delilah at his departure.

* * *

Jim didn’t really get it.

How could those four people be the four people destined as his soulmates? It didn’t make any sense. He had finally remembered where he knew those faces from. They were the musicians that had been hyping London for years. Queen.

Wouldn’t he have had some lyrics on his skin? Fine, maybe the others didn’t sing the songs, but at least the singer Jim had heard over the radio. Or words pronounced by soulmates but heard through recordings didn’t count? Soulmarks only registered the words said to your face by your soulmate? Is that how soulmarks worked?

Then was the fact that his soulmates were famous. _Very_ _much so_ , apparently. So rich and famous, they didn’t want to be associated with a poor commoner like Jim, he thought bitterly cutting some onions for dinner.

A part of him wanted to be fair to his soulmates. The voice of reason within told him that he hadn’t looked his best today, and maybe they didn’t want to announce Jim was his soulmate in front of this Reid person. Plus, the money offer was, after all, a set price for Delilah that had nothing to do with Jim being the one returning her home. On top of that, he was probably overreacting, because Jim knew he was vain about looks and he had always fantasized about the way he would look and how he would dress when meeting each of his soulmates.

Still, the other part of him just wanted to brood over having found his soulmates, and them being so detached about that. And that part was winning tonight.

So Jim cooked dinner on autopilot, and then burnt said dinner because he wasn’t paying attention. He still ate it, though. He had never been one to let food go to waste, and he had the feeling anything he ate tonight would taste like sand anyway.

The gardener went to bed early, but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about his soulmates. So Jim tossed and turned, and when the first sun rays were shining through the window, he finally fell asleep.

Feeling like he had been run over by a train, Jim woke up to a knock on the door. He tried to peek at the clock on his bedside table. It was early, too early for a Sunday morning. The people at the door were probably mistaken. Almost falling asleep, he jerked awake when he heard knocking again.

It wasn’t louder this time. It was just as steady, exactly the same volume as before. _Tap-Tap-Tap_. Jim frowned at the general direction of the door, but didn’t get up. He let the minutes pass, and he was starting to drift when the person at the door knocked again.

Huffing in annoyance, Jim got up ready to dress down whoever was at the door. When he swung it open, any kind of argument he was ready to have died in his lips. There, wearing very tight black jeans, a leather jacket, and sunglasses, was a man Jim had never seen in his life.

The man lowered his sunglasses a bit to look at Jim up and down. The gardener suddenly felt very vulnerable. Here he was, standing in a very old robe, striped pajama pants, and no socks, in front of a man who looked like the epitome of the Bad Boy, even if somewhat bald.

“Are you Jim Hutton?” asked the man, with a deep voice that revealed nothing. Idly, Jim wondered who wore glasses on a Sunday morning when it wasn’t even sunny outside.

“Yes?” replied Jim, feeling very confused. So it wasn’t a random man knocking on his door by accident, then.

“Jim Hutton the gardener?” asked the man again, and that erased any kind of doubt that this man was looking for Jim himself. He had watched enough police thrillers to feel like this stranger could be a police agent of some kind.

“Yes?” he replied even more confused. And then, another thought occurred to him. Maybe this man belonged to a mafia, which would explain the looks. Jim couldn’t help it the silly excitement he felt at that thought. God, he needed therapy. He had obviously spent too much time watching movies.

“Well, that’s great.” The man said with a lopsided grin, pushing his way into the flat without waiting to be invited in. “I already knocked on three other Jim Huttons today. Let me tell you, they weren’t really happy to see me” he offered with a conspiratorial tone.

“Maybe because it’s Sunday and you are knocking at six in the morning” Jim deadpanned, and the man let out a good-natured laugh. The gardener was starting to feel uncomfortable. It’s not that he didn’t like visitors; it’s just that he didn’t like unsolicited visitors, handsome as they might be.

“Name’s Crystal” the man said offering his hand. Jim looked at it and then at Crystal’s face and narrowed his eyes. _What kind of name was that_. Crystal snorted and lowered his hand. “My boss sent me to fetch you”

“What?” now the mafia theory was gaining weight. Who else would need a _gardener_ on a Sunday morning out of a sudden?

“I work for Roger Taylor” he said as an explanation, but Jim’s face must have betrayed he was still at a loss as to who he was. Crystal sighed “Drummer of Queen, the man you met yesterday”

_Ah_. The soulmates, then.

“Which one?” Jim said, narrowing his eyes.

“Blond with sunglasses” replied Crystal with an eyebrow wiggle. They just remained in awkward silence for a while.

Crystal just looked at Jim, as if expecting the gardener to do something. He cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips. The silence stretched on, but Jim was just standing there, brooding about is soulmates. When it was obvious Jim wasn’t going to say anything, Crystal clasped his hands and turned to open the door. “Well! Come on, then”

“Wait, wait! He sent you to fetch me?” Jim snapped out of it “To _fetch_ me? Like I’m some kind of- some kind of- dog?”

He couldn’t believe these men. The _nerve_ of them.

“Well, you can tell your boss that if he wants to talk to me he can come by himself!” he spat, and last night’s annoyance was coming back in full force. Crystal removed his sunglasses to give him a once over, looking impressed.

“Just to be clear, you’re telling me you’re not coming with me, is that right?” asked Crystal with a smirk, seemingly not at all bothered that Jim was refusing.

“No- I mean, yes! Whatever, I’m not coming with you!” snapped Jim loudly, not caring that it was very early, and his flat had such thin walls his neighbors could probably hear them.

The other man grinned at him.

“Thank you, Jim Hutton. You just won me the satisfaction of being right and a brand new Rolls Royce” Crystal laughed, walking to the door. Opening it, he turned around and winked at him. “I like your attitude, you’ll be great for them!”

With that, Crystal was gone. Jim wanted to snort, roll his eyes, and scream, all at once. He couldn’t believe his soulmates. Send a messenger? Who did that? Who did they think they were?

“See you around, Jim!” he heard being yelled from the stairs, and Jim groaned. His neighbors were going to hate him.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, Jim couldn’t help but anxiously wait for his soulmates to show up at his door. He got restless and increasingly annoyed, and the weather wasn’t helping at all to lift his mood. Still, the day went by and no one came.

Almost a week had passed, but now Jim was constantly alert. He hadn’t paid much attention to the music on the radio before, that’s true, but somehow it seemed like the only thing they played now was Queen. It drove him up the walls.

To ice the cake, he couldn’t stop thinking about the cat. Jim had gotten used to Delilah in the month she had stayed with him, and now he missed her. Just last week, Delilah had cuddled up with him on the couch, purring loudly. Jim hadn’t had a pet in many years, but now he had been reminded just how nice it could be to get home to a loving animal.

So Jim was in a bad mood all week, and he was only too glad when Friday rolled around.

The gardener was determined to get his life under control again. Who cared if he had found his soulmates and it wasn’t at all like he had expected? So what if they hadn’t come to see him? Lots of people lived without their soulmates. He had lived without them all his life, he could keep it that way.

So Jim decided to get his succulent wall project back on track, and to finally come around to do that scrapbook photo album he had wanted to build for some years now. He had fashion magazines, and sports magazines, and little pieces of fabric, and everything he would need.

He started his projects on Friday evening, and worked his way through the weekend. Jim was almost feeling back to normal by Sunday evening, and was already planning that maze garden he had been requested.

Of course, life had decided to fuck him over, and once again in less than ten days, he was awoken by a knock on the door. At first, Jim thought it was Crystal. But even through his sleep haze he knew it couldn’t really be the man. Crystal had knocked steadily. This person was knocking frantically, like it was an emergency. _An emergency_.

He jumped off the bed and ran to the door, expecting to see one of his old neighbors, maybe Mr. Brown, probably Mrs. Johnson. Instead, when he opened the door, he was faced by Freddie Mercury himself, who was holding no other than Delilah.

She meowed loudly at him as a greeting, and squirmed in Freddie’s arms to get free. The singer let her go and she fell gracefully, rubbing against Jim’s ankles and purring.

For all he had missed her, Jim couldn’t really look away from the other man. He had a perfectly trimmed mustache, and he was wearing a tight T-shirt and jeans. Despite his better judgment, it made his mouth dry. Still, Jim could see dark circles under Freddie’s eyes. 

“Hi” Freddie smiled with closed lips, a small smile. Jim was ready to admit he didn’t know much about this man or his music, but even he could tell it wasn’t the same smile the singer used for the press. Jim liked that.

“Hello” he answered, and then the silence stretched on. Jim felt his face blushing. What was it with these people and coming over at indecent hours? And, most importantly, why did he have to meet them when he was wearing his absolutely worst clothing? Jim was painfully aware he was wearing his softest T shirt, the one with coffee stains and holes.

Delilah meowed loudly, and they snapped out of their haze. Jim looked down at her, the perfect excuse to stop looking at Freddie like a creeper. The singer cleared his throat loudly.

“Delilah, uhm- she missed you” Freddie said in a voice smaller than what Jim was expecting. It was nice, though, and it sounded melodic even to the gardener’s untrained ear.

“So her name is Delilah, then” Jim said while she kept rubbing against him.

“Yes” Freddie answered awkwardly, quirking that little smile again. 

“I thought her name was Mary” Jim smiled at Delilah’s answering meow. This cat was so cute, Jim was already in love with her. Freddie cocked his head to one side, so Jim hurried to explain. “She always meows at that, so I assumed”

“Oh” the singer smiled a bit more, and looked a bit sheepish “yeah, Mary is a very good friend to us. Delilah loves her, so Mary babysits her when we are away and can’t take her with us.”

Jim hummed and then the silence was back. Freddie was clearly uncomfortable, but he was here. And wasn’t that what Jim had told Crystal to go tell the band? With a small sigh, Jim opened the door wide.

“Come on in, then” he said. Freddie blushed at that, and Jim’s heart melted. He hoped his face wasn’t doing funny things, but the look on Freddie’s face was almost too much for him at this moment, right in the middle of the night.

“Uhm, can the others come too?” Freddie said in a small voice. Jim was surprised at that, and tried to peek at the hallway behind Freddie. He could see no one there, but he wouldn’t put it past them to lurk around the corner.

“Where are the others?” Jim asked frowning a bit.

“Oh, they are down in the car” the singer answered quickly, toying with the hem of his shirt.

“Why?” Jim was honestly flabbergasted by that. If they had all come here, why hadn’t the other three come up too?

“We didn’t want to gang up on you in case you were mad at us” replied Freddie in a sheepish tone, wincing a bit.

“So they sent you as a sacrifice?” chuckled Jim. 

“Well, John can’t hold Delilah properly, Rog thought you’d be mad at him for having sent Crystal-“ Jim made a non-committal sound. “-and well, Brian volunteered me to come.” Fred opened his eyes comically and then stammered on. “Not that I didn’t want to come! I wanted to come! I wanted to be the one talking to you, promise!”

Jim tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. Fred was adorable in all his embarrassment. His soulmates had come here. Yes, it was the middle of the night on a Sunday night, something no one who worked reasonable working hours would do, but they had come. With Delilah. Jim’s heart was pounding against his ribcage.

After a week of obsessively fanning over old mags with Queen interviews, he was left incredibly anxious at meeting these people. He was sure his soulmates would be nothing like the men these magazines described.

“Fine, go tell the others they can come up too” he smiled at Freddie’s hopeful expression.

As soon as he closed the door, panic broke in the apartment. Jim rushed to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He pondered if he should change his shirt. Yes, this was an old one that had definitely seen better days. But Freddie had already seen it, what would he think if he changed it suddenly? On the other hand, it would save him embarrassment in front of the others.

As he ran to his closet, Jim despaired a bit over the state of his flat. He had dirty dishes in the sink. He had the countertop full of small succulent pots, dirt and soil a bit all over the place, and his coffee table was in the middle of a scrapbook revolution. Jim groaned, he couldn’t decide what to tidy up first.

At least he had clean cups to offer them tea in, but as the gardener lived alone, he didn’t have a full set. So every cup in his house was different from the next. _How embarrassing_.

Before he could do anything about those things, there was knocking on the door. Had Freddie run down the stairs? How were they here so fast?

Jim took a deep breath to steady himself. His hands were shaking a bit, but Delilah was meowing loudly in front of the door. He opened up and sure enough, the four of them were there. They looked at each other in silence, just like a week ago. The boys were tense, but Jim could sense a distinct air of stubbornness in them.

“Come on in” he said, stepping to the side. John smiled at that, looking down for a second. Roger smiled too and elbowed the bassist lightly. Jim wanted to know what that was about. _Maybe later_ , his mind supplied.

John stepped up to him, face schooled back into a serious expression, and looked at Jim in the eyes. “Thank you for letting us in” he said softly, and if Jim’s heart had almost melted at Freddie’s smile, this voice was proving even harder to resist.

Jim could feel his face burning up. The four of them entered his house and Jim closed the door. Just what had he gotten himself into?

* * *

They introduced themselves awkwardly. Jim knew their names, and they obviously knew his, so the whole affair was rather stiff. Jim offered them tea, mainly so he could have some minutes alone in the kitchen to collect himself. Still, sooner than he was ready, the tea had been made and he was out in the living room again.

He gave a cup to each one, and they sat on the couch and the single armchair as best as they could. Jim tried not to look too much at his chaotic coffee table, covered in glitter and paper cuts.

“No, no, Delilah, you’ll get hair everywhere-“ said Brian, trying to get Delilah off the couch.

“It’s alright, she’s spent plenty of time there already”

“Oh, ok” Brian said, and Jim felt a little bad at the obvious discomfort Brian was experiencing.

“Uhm, wasn’t she grounded for life?” Jim asked, and he heard Roger snort inelegantly.

“Well, she is-“ Brian started, petting Delilah’s belly. The guitarist sighed and looked up at Jim, with a coy but determined expression in his eyes “but it’s not like we would ever forbid her from coming here, you are one of her parents, in a way”

And at that, Jim almost choked. Was this whole conversation going to be like this? Jim was blushing and they hadn’t even started talking about anything. Jim sipped at his tea, while he pretended not to notice the silent argument the others were having as he waited for them to say something.

“Jim,” Freddie started, setting his cup down and rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture “We believe you need to know certain things first”

Jim’s stomach was tied in a knot, but he willed his face to remain still. The gardener knew he could make the weirdest expressions, but he needed to pretend to be at least somewhat normal for their first conversations.

“We are assuming you have four scrawls-” Freddie said tentatively “-As we have.”

Jim’s heart stuttered. _Wait, what_. He looked at the others for confirmation, and received expectant looks in return.

“So- you four are soulmates” Jim said slowly, and they all nodded and made small sounds of agreement. He had lost any hope of returning to a normal heart beat, his pulse hammering his way through his veins. He had never expected is four soulmates would be connected among each other, but now it made an awful lot of sense. His heart was doing somersaults inside his chest at the news. But Freddie kept talking, and Jim had to will himself to pay attention.

“A long time ago, when Queen first started to go big- we settled some ground rules.” Freddie said carefully, taking back the empty cup to have something to do with his hands. “We agreed we wouldn’t impose ourselves on our fifth. As in- Well, being famous isn’t always easy, and we understand it isn’t something everyone is comfortable with. So we decided when the time came, we would talk to them in private and then they- I mean you, then you could make an informed decision. Last week, when we met like that- we were very much in public. And we didn’t think- we couldn’t know how you’d react if we suddenly claimed you were our soulmate right there, in front of strangers. We wanted to give you a choice.”

Jim hummed, and looked at the others. Brian was still petting Delilah, but he could see the tense set of his shoulders. Roger was playing with the loose strands of one of the cushions, and even from here, Jim could see his absurdly long lashes fluttering nervously. John was looking at him intently, leaning against his bookshelf.

It sounded nice, what Freddie was saying. It sounded perfectly logical. A part of Jim wanted to believe them, wanted to tell them it was alright. He opened his mouth to tell them exactly that.

“Why did it take you a full week to come?” Jim’s treacherous mouth said instead. Turns out the nagging annoyance at their first meeting wasn’t leaving Jim alone yet.

“You could have come to us, too” said Brian, looking up at him. Delilah meowed loudly, reminded Jim he had wanted this first conversation to go smoothly.

“Right, because it is _so easy_ to contact the most famous musicians in London” Jim answered bitterly, pointedly ignoring her advice.

“Well, it’s not like you tried-“ the guitarist said with a stubborn tone. And he was right, Jim hadn’t really tried, but it still annoyed and hurt him hearing it.

“Brian, enough, we shouldn’t go there-“ John started to say at the same time, a warning in his voice.

“You think we are the most famous musicians in London?” Roger asked, interrupting the others and then blushing slightly. Jim noticed the awed tone and excited smile of the drummer.

Freddie laughed a playful ‘ _Rog!_ ’ that effectively relieved most of the tension. Still, Jim’s question hung in the air. Just _what_ had taken them so long.

“We had to solve some internal affairs before coming here” John said, trying for the diplomatic answer.

“We needed to get our shit together” answered Freddie, and Jim could appreciate his honest reply.

“So you had a fight” Jim said with a frown, trying to gauge their reactions. Sure enough, Roger winced.

“I’m sorry!” the drummer said in a tired voice, and Jim had the distinct feeling it wasn’t directed at him but at his bandmates.

“What you need to understand, Jim, is that above all we are a team-“ Freddie looked pointedly at Roger, who let out a pitiful groan. “-and we had to wait until we all agreed”

“It took you a full week to agree on coming to see me?” Jim asked disbelieving.

“No, darling, we wanted to come right away. But we had a bit of a hard time deciding when to come, after learning that some of us-“ Freddie made a dramatic pause and shoot another pointed look at Roger, who groaned again. “-had acted without waiting for approval from _all of us_ , deliberately foregoing _all_ our ground rules regarding meeting our fifth, and sending someone-”

“I said I was sorry!” interrupted Roger, running his fingers through his hair. “I was stupid, alright? It was a bad call, I’m sorry. Jim-” the drummer said looking straight at him, and Jim was startled to notice his eyes were bright blue. “-I’m really sorry for having sent Crystal.”

“It was really awful” added John, pursing his lips at Roger.

“A really bad choice, and you are still not entirely forgiven” said Brian, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Honestly, Rog, sending Crystal to get your soulmate” huffed Freddie.

Jim almost felt bad about Roger, who sounded genuinely apologetic. The gardener felt all the confusion and frustration of the past week leave him slowly but surely. Now, Jim was finally starting to feel excited about this.

"Who is Crystal, anyways?" asked the gardener with a smile, and Freddie smiled back at him.

"He's my assistant" answer Roger readily, and received leers and snorts from his three boyfriends.

"He's Roger’s lawful husband" Freddie said with a wink, then laughed at Roger’s affronted look.

“We are friends-!”

“If Roger wasn’t our soulmate, he would be Crystal’s” Brian said, less gloomy than five minutes ago. Jim liked this playful Brian, he wanted to see more of him.

“We work together-!”

“Roger and Crystal go on weekend trips together too” John added, and Jim laughed at how they were obviously doing this to rile the drummer up.

“Alright! Back to the conversation!” Roger shouted and the other laughed but settled down.

Startled, Jim realized he was smiling fondly at them. He liked this, the playful banter, the teasing. He wanted to discover more of them. The gardener looked up at Freddie when the singer cleared his throat and offered Jim a shy smile.

“Jim, we-“ Freddie started, and looked at the other three seeking reassurance. John nodded. “We’ve been waiting for you forever”

“I’m sorry I was late” Jim said, because it was true. He was sorry it had taken so long. The room fell silent, but the gardener knew his soulmates were waiting for him. It was time for Jim to be the brave one. They had come to him, and they had explained. Now, these men needed for Jim to say something. “I’m sorry I was late, but I hope- I hope we can get to meet properly”

And looking at his soulmates, Jim felt is heart swell with warm happiness. Freddie had tears in his eyes, and a bright smile. Roger was holding the singer’s hand tightly, lifting it to his mouth to kiss it, smiling at Jim. Brian was smiling shyly, but his eyes were bright and honest.

“We’d love that” John said in a raspy voice.

* * *

In the end, they stayed a lot longer than they had expected. Jim had gone to make tea, and someone had turned on the TV. Of course, because it was Sunday and it was midnight and it was England, _Crossroads_ was on.

Who would have guessed these four men watched a soap opera with such fervor.

They managed to fit in Jim’s living room, and it didn’t feel crowded but cozy. Jim sat in the middle of the couch. To his right sat Freddie with a lap full of Roger, who wasted no time in snuggling against the singer’s neck. Freddie had both arms around him, absentmindedly caressing the drummer’s skin here and there. To Jim’s left, John was sitting on the couch. Brian had chosen to sit on the floor at John’s feet because he didn’t really fit the couch and because he needed extra leg space. John had tangled his fingers in Brian’s hair, and was slowly massaging his scalp as they watched TV.

Delilah found her way into Jim’s lap, of course. And the gardener, for the first time since finding her, felt absolutely content. Surrounded by the warmth of his soulmates, holding the Delilah he had been waiting for.

Hours later, they all walked down the stairs slowly, trying not to be very loud for the sake of Jim’s neighbors. The gardener had decided to walk them to their car, because a part of him wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet.

John had claimed the driver’s seat as soon as they had turned off the TV, so he was the first to come to Jim to say goodbye. John kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand once, whispering a _see you soon_ that only Jim could hear.

Freddie hugged him tightly, burrowing his face in Jim’s neck. His nose was unnaturally cold, and Jim had the desperate urge to tell them to get back in the apartment, that there was no need for them to leave, that they could spend the night, anything to keep them out of this awful cold that had settled over London.

Roger came to him next, looking positively tiny in the huge sweater he had borrowed from Jim.

“I’m sorry again, about Crystal” he said sheepishly.

“It’s alright, Roger” Jim said, and it truly was. Still, he couldn’t help the smirk that crept up his face. “Should I be worried about you and him?”

“What? No! No! Of course not, I would never do anything with him, we are friends- Oh, you awful tease!“ Roger elbowed him lightly, as Jim laughed at Roger’s spluttering.

“Oh, you should have seen your face” Jim chuckled.

“You are going to be the death of us, Jim Hutton” Roger said with a fond smile. With a light hug, Roger got in the van.

Brian had fallen behind, holding a sleeping Delilah. Up close, Jim was absolutely fascinated at his curls. But Brian had that look on his face, a look Jim was quickly learning to recognize as the one the guitarist wore when he was about to do something that required all his willpower.

"Do you play guitar?" Brian blurted out, blushing. And it was such a sudden question that Jim was dumbfounded.

"No, not really, sorry” Jim said with an awkward smile. Was this a requirement? Something they needed their fifth soulmate to do, be a musician too? If it was, Jim was in serious trouble. "I could try to learn, but I can't promise I'll be any good"

"Oh, that's alright" Brian let out a sigh, and at any other time, Jim would have thought he could hear the relief in the guitarist voice. Brian smiled "You don't have to, I was just curious"

Jim hummed, he could tell there was more to it than that. But it was late, and if he played his cards right, Jim would be able to ask as many questions as he wanted for the rest of his life.

"I would like to play for you" said Brian, blushing.

"Oh" once again, Jim was left speechless. “I would like that"

Brian’s smile was the brightest Jim had ever seen on his face.

* * *

The next day, Jim got an invitation to watch _Crossroads_ with them on Wednesday night. He accepted, of course.

For the first time in his life, Jim thought he might be the protagonist of his own epic love story after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how excited I am about this. After too long, and I am very aware how long I kept you hanging, Jim's chapter is finally here. 
> 
> First and foremost, thanks to Annieapple24 for betaing, and for her amazing advice and midnight support. Also, thanks to the members of the Queen+BoRhap Writer's Den for incredible prompts, crazy convos, and endless support. 
> 
> Not going to lie, this was a wild ride. It's double the length of any other chapter, and I had to cut many little things here and there that I wanted to show you but that would just make this impossibly long. (Expect many spin offs in the future)
> 
> Life had been crazy for the past month or so. You know that feeling when life _intensifies_. It took an insanely long time to write this because all roads lead to angst, and I really didn't want that for this fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think :) 
> 
> Also! Deaky's birthday is around the corner and although I won't be able to deliver before his actual birthday, I want to create a Deaky's Birthday Extravangaza (AKA Porn). The main plot goes like this: a chapter for each boy+Deaky and then a many-dicks-hapenning-at-once-ot5.
> 
> Now, I have ideas floating around, but I wanted to ask what do you guys want to have? I'm open to suggestions :)
> 
> A little thing: Madama Butterfly is an opera by Giacommo Puccini, and I recommend you go listen to Maria Calla's _Un bel di Vedremo_ in youtube because it will give you feels.


End file.
